One day I sit at the side of the room
My child comes home from work.
Coat off, bag down, he sits on the floor
Newspaper spread, he wants to read.
His child watches, book in hand.
I hold my arms out-- Granny will read.
But Granny has read all day.
She turns a little, removes her eyes
Her dad is home and he is reading.
Gently she pats his arm.
Hello he says but doesn't turn his face.
She drops her book and hides from me
behind his back.
She bumps him with her bum,
Wriggles and squirms and rolls about against his back
Then settles draped against him
Her chin almost reaching his shoulder
Arms stretched wide, hands lifting
Up and down like caged reproachful birds.
She sags her knees dig in his back
He grunts and wriggles.
Aha! Oh yes!
She finds an inner pulse and plays the rhythm
dig dig flappy flappy
Book book daddy daddy
book book daddy daddy
He smiles at me, picks up the book
and pulls her to his knee.
Where The Wild Things Are
He roars their terrible roars
(so did I when I read it)
She shrinks into safe arms
(so did he when I read it)
Showed their terrible claws
They both flex their fingers
(so did we, not so long ago)
Poetry in emotion!!