IMOGEN – 10 months old

 

I stand with my back to the sink

While your grandmother rummages

In cupboards below. Gazing up,

She meets your expectant face

Seemingly suspended in mid air.

You are bent almost backwards;

Determined to know what world of wonder

Exists on those shelves.

I fear to move, so like a little bird you were,

Nestling into the crook of my neck,

Rubbing your silken-hair against my skin,

Fledgling-like, perched on the bough of my arm.

I thought for a moment you would slip from the nest

Of my embrace and fly around the kitchen.