The Balloon

Michael Longley
You are a child in the dream and not my mother. I float above your head as in a hot air balloon That casts no shadow on you looking up at me
And smiling and waving and running without a limp Across the shallow streams and fields of shiny grass
As though there were neither malformation nor pain. This is the first time ever I have seen you running. You are a child in the dream and not my mother Which may be why I call out from the balloon to you: 'Jump over the hedges, Connie, jump over the trees.'
Page 2, Poetry Ireland Review Issue 26