My First Marbles

[This is an 11 minute prompt response from the first line of Juliane Okot Bitek (2016) poem “Day 62” from Matthew Ogle’s Pome: poetry delivered daily via email]

—

Unless you believe in the eye of the needle
you wonʻt fit through the door to the next
thought whoever told you the mind is the sky
lied it’s not restricted to atmosphere or outer
layers first we learn to walk then we break
open the nest and later discover the night
learning it’s always there waiting outside
today’s weather patterns rain or shine wind
or the stillness that shrinks everything you’re
too small in the hour of rainfall one breath
you’re over the rooftop I’m talking to you
AKA myself who else? only this morning
remembering the perfect spheres of steel my father
brought home from Portishead the phosphate factory
the train to Bristol the teeth numbing vibrations
of ball bearings in his pocket my first marbles
rising above the dull horizon of linoleum
perfect orbs in his great hands set free
our reflections tumbling and rolling across
a floor busy with 50s faux and matchbox toys
detritus of childhood after the war when everyone
walked through everything that needed building
up again the sky hadn’t drawn open its curtain yet
I had to learn to walk before I saw constellations