in a blanket fort constructed from fragile sheets of securities,
padded out inside with cushions of collected comforts,
the little girl curls in the love-light of the lamp through the fabric
and puts her hands over her ears to block out the rage of reality.
if she squeezes her eyes shut in her creatively constructed cocoon,
bites her lips together and hums a childhood lullaby,
the notes will add a throbbing bass of bars to her security.
she's hiding from the adult road to adolescence,
the years of awkward promised pretence before a foothold is found.
in her childish dreams she doesn't have to walk that way.
she thinks she's found a safe-place, and so she sings in her sleep.
tangled between her fingers she holds the string of a red balloon.
her gift to her grandchildren. if she can hold it that long.
the fairy lights above her head pretend to be stars.