It's Still Life

A Cadralor: Bruised 

I.
She has beginner’s legs. 
Ballet lessons. At the bar, 
each move and stretch is 
a foreign language. 

II.
She feels bruised and 
battered. Unbalance. 
Pink tights and a purple tutu. 
She’s fallen. Upended. 

III.
A boy is outside. Football. 
He practises scoring goals. 
Again and again. He runs, 
and kicks wildly at the air. 

IV. 
He sits on grass. 
His mother’s voice comes 
out of the house in waves 
of bruised language. 

V.
There’s old light in the sky.
Old games. Old languages.
Children grow up, and leave. 
Rivers don’t belong to you.

AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter #amwriting