Watery

• Lilian Ma, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2011

I look into the brittle sky.
I like to think I could
bend its cobalt corners
and it would
snap apart like a dry biscuit
with crumbs.

The Heavens wink at me through a drop.

Plop.

Paint
was the medium used by God in Creation.
A ragged brush dunked in
weak tea
(for there was no water)
and dabbed into sticky puddles
of sunsets, deep sleep ad rosewater,
boiled sweets and a house by the sea,
of life at its simplest –
Colours.
Flicked across drooping canvas.
Left to drip.

Plop.

My umbrella is a mess
of vermillion waterproof flaps
stretched over eight metal legs,
one is sprained.
The others are infected by
a vivid ochre rust.
It is quite beautiful.
I let it go and it
dances
in mid-air,
a crooked, winged origami-thing.

Plop.

I look into the inky sky.
It drips and drips.
I like to think
I have the eyes of an
artist.

Rain, rain.
Saturate my life.