Glass Poetry Press

Volume One Issue Two

Susan Deer Cloud

Playing Marbles

-for Erelene & Danny They were talking over the phone about February, the way winter drags on, how they used to play marbles at the first sign of thaw. They marveled at why kids no longer play marbles. The younger sister said sometimes she discovered lost marbles or shards of them gleaming in dirt by the old schoolhouse. She always carried such treasures home to place around flower pots. They spoke about crystals, aggies, cat's eyes, their colors far prettier than jewels. The elder sister asked, "Do you still have our marbles? When I visit the Catskills, let's shoot marbles in the melting snow." They both started laughing. What? Them lose their marbles? They mourned those who had metamorphosed to zombies, the "grown ups" who believed it foolish to pump themselves up on swings to see if they might touch the sky. Come spring, they vowed once more they'd swing high, fly over sparkles beading Willowemoc River, hair lifting in sun as silver wings. They agreed to keep childlikeness in their hearts. Nor did they use any big words like God. They didn't need to. Rolling the sacred hoops of marbles across snow crystals, dreaming towards the light until they were eagles, was enough.