[I don’t think I’ve posted this one before.]
a black and white photo of a boy
in bed on Christmas morning,
a model-plane kit on the blanket;
coloured in my memory.
I remember hands hurting in the snow;
throbbing pink after snowballing.
I remember no Christmas tree
but the dry weightlessness
of balsa wood and pressing pins
to secure wings to paper
plan; sharp addictive smell
of glue and drum-like tautness
of dope-stretched tissue across
wing ribs and fuselage; winding up
elastic band powered propeller. Its level flight
reward enough for patience.
I remember a solid fuel pack
when lit sent another plane
out of sight with a fizz and a buzz
and a burnt chemical stink. I lost that plane
when it flew over roof tops.
I remember gazing at grey snowflakes
drifting against a bright sky and wondering
why everyone said snow was white.