My grandmother never went out without a headscarf.
She had plenty of them, all neatly folded on a shelf in a low cupboard, within easy reach of a child.
In other words me.
The scarves were mostly chiffon and in rainbow colours.
They demanded to be unfolded and swirled in the air like fairy wings.
When opened to full capacity, they seemed enormous and perfect for dressing up.
Or delicate parachutes.
Luckily, at the very bottom of the cupboard, my grandmother also kept her footwear.
She never once complained about the pile of shoes, sandals and slippers in the middle of the floor.
Or the crumpled fairy wings that floated in the air.
She gave me rousing applause for singing and dancing.
And my scarf magic.
Kim M. Russell, 15th December 2018
This weekend I am delighted to welcome back Magaly to the Garden. She has been working her black-out magic with a miniature copy of the Selected Works of Poe to give us the title of her prompt. She would like us to write new poems centred on childhood memories that bring us joy as adults, with a suggested optional pump of Prose Poetry in 131 words or fewer.