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Papier Mache
by Linda Graham
We did this: made a world
from faded headlines.
We oil-painted oceans,
laced rivers over curves,
crafted trees in pipe cleaners,
crumpled tissue paper;
we populated land masses
with egg box buildings,
represented living things
in magic marker dots and lines,
colour-coded stickers.
All finished, we hung it
from my ceiling, watched
its shadows change
with every spin, first one way,
then back the other.
Together, we tried to identify
the precise defining second
between each revolution, tried
to hold our breath
from one moment of stillness
to the next.
We spent all summer
counting rotations, the passing
of imaginary days
on our miniature earth.
Impatient for another,
and another, we didn't notice
how sunlight bleached
blues and greens, how
carefully-placed stickers fell
like wasted confetti
and newspaper curled
at the edges, uprooting
buildings and trees.
When it cracked in two,
we thought we could fix it,
you holding the pieces,
me reapplying the glue.
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