The stairs had been my terror
too many in the house
steep polished spirals
each ledge high as his hip.
When he crawled, I transformed:
a sheepdog harrying a lamb
shutting gates, doors, a traveling citadel.
The doorbell was my downfall.
Scrambling to sign and return
I turned, too late.
The little hands stretched, overbalanced
tumbling forward and--
not down.
He drifted above the bannister
giggling, reaching for the chandelier
until I screamed
snatching the corner of his shirt
a squirming helium child
till the cloth tore loose
and he soared upwards
the red fabric floating behind him:
his first cape.
No comments:
Post a Comment