poem

– First published in Swerve 2, July 2023

Tiny frog,
once you swam and jumped
around my insides;
heel in rib, elbow in gut. 

Now your heels stamp carpet,
your little hands open doors
much too big for you, 
your elbow lending weight. 

You slide away the barrier, 
between you and words
you cannot read yet. 
A glass front, no match.

Warm palms grab covers,
grubby fingers turn pages,
awkwardly –

Tearing without intent,
like you tore before once,
unwittingly –

You create a tower
of discarded titles
piled with accidental meaning.

Wild
The Life Changing Magic of Tidying
Don’t Touch My Hair
The God of Small Things
Fortunately The Milk
Wonder