Having been reminded that it’s World Poetry Day, I’ve scrambled to post one fresh from the pencil.
I’m more than a little preoccupied with The Infant currently, especially as we’ve been enjoying his first ever vomiting virus today. Hurray! We’re charging through all these ‘firsts’ and the crazy rate of change is a constant reminder of the ephemeral nature of, um, nature. With this in mind, I’ve written down something that happened the other day.
Like Water Through Fingers
There are three holes in the base
Of the bright orange pot
You’re playing with in the bath.
I use the pot to pour water and bubbles
Over your head and back
And you laugh and splash with such naked life in your eyes
That tears come to mine while smiling.
I fill the pot again and hold it high,
Letting the water run out through the three holes.
The water runs fast.
The three downward flowing streams of moving water
Seem to be three solid silver poles.
You watch. You reach.
And, being human, try to hold them.