30 Poems in 30 Days
Day 16 - about playing a game
I remember hopscotch
the aeroplane shape scored
in orange clay, every square
edged with smooth-sided grooves.
The tors, too, smooth, oiled
by our hot childish hands
treated as talismans, hidden
among clumps of weed.
It was not a game you could lose.
Failing, you began again, learned.
Friends urged second tries, the tors
I remember hopscotch as a silent
discipline, where hand and eye
worked together, and the body
learned balance, yearned for ballet..