Red clay brick drawn hopscotch lines
lead to burning fires and smoke.
A tiptoed ballerina,
pink and worn, dances through flames.
Muscles strain until collapse,
lungs absorb fumes, whimpering,
until blistering feet pause,
and charred fingers stop to click
photographs, to remember
sparks and smouldering embers
that razed high hopes to the ground.
Glasswork strides out of the flames-
moulded bitter paragon
encasing a little girl
who can still find herself in
rusty, misshapen hopscotch squares.