Let me tell you my little boy
About a night we spent together many years ago.
I was hiding from our torment of sleepless baby nights
And your Mother brought you to me in the spare room.
I held you soft in my arms.
Cradled on my beating heart.
And I couldn’t move for fear of your reprisals.
For three hours in a trance.
Your every stirring answered with a whisper.
Remembering a night in 2003
This object forms part of my earliest memories.
I remember playing with it under the dining room table, and accidentally stapling my fingers on more than one occasion. I remember it being there when my Dad was doing paperwork, and being fascinated with it’s shape and the thing on the side for removing staples, which now fascinates my son (who has not stapled his fingers).
When my Dad died in 1995, it was one of several everyday items I took on, connecting me directly with feelings of comfort and security. It still works perfectly and I use it all the time.
Made in England, all steel, from the 60s?
Taken with instagram
Taken in Nepal 2010
A moment of quiet.
The eye of a storm.
I scarcely dare breath
lest my slightest movement
tip
time forward and the world come rushing in.
Lucy is still.
Only her tiny fingers work the object she holds.
Only her delicate intake of breath breaks the silence as
she stares intently
and tries to know what she holds.
Like trying to touch water without making ripples
I stare at Lucy.
For a brief eternity
The world is mysterious
and we chase our imaginations through fairytale forests.
Then
she remembers
and looks up at me
and we smile.
From 2000
Watching James Bond with small boys. Perfect. (Taken with instagram)
Taken with instagram
Taken with instagram
To bed (Taken with instagram)
