Imaginative Space
Nothing dared move in that room.
The white-washed furniture
leaving barely any space for seperate movement,
or distance apart.
The drawn flower-print curtains
threw a shroud of Eden over.
The orange vest hung on the
cupboard door headless to watch,
but the dolls were able to,
and did, through the clear glass
from within their cabinet,
only peering over the foot
of the bed.
Mr and Miss Teddy were flung together
onto that chair in the corner,
and then a white towel flung over
them, hiding them away.
There in that imaginative space,
nothing else moved,
nothing else happened.
