Fly to me soft as dove wings fluttering
Our sleepiness like soundproofing
Magic Pudding face crying and gasping
Little fingers pressing soft breasts
Tied tongue howling, blue eyes winking.
As you latch on straight away,
Gulping the milk into your throat,
With small satisfied suckling.
We wrestle both selfish and tired.
Feeding your hunger, and returning to sleep,
Awaiting harmony’s return.
So begins our mother son see saw.
You up I down,
I up you down.
In the morning the sun will come up,
The sky will be blue and I will love you again.
Later when small in arms looking up,
With eyes of trust and grace.
Two white teeth in the upper gum,
Four white teeth to meet them below.
Smiles of unadulterated delight,
Flash across his face like ripples in a pool.
He’s up then down and all around.
So lucky have I been just to have,
This one small perfect child,
My piccanini boy.
(c) Terese Simpson All Rights Reserved