Friday, July 28, 2006

Two teeth

All evening he tousled with his teeth,
twisting this way and that
until the red thread's
thinning grip gave out.

With a broad grin brimming
He brought them through,
two white trophies
held proudly in pink hands.
"Sorry Dad," he said, "for getting blood on the tissues".
And, oh, how I loved this little sharing of himself,
these needless words and sentiments designed
to draw me deeply to a suitable response.

I only wish my mind was fast and free enough
to grasp the treasured moments as they come.
to sweep him in a hug and tell him how proud I am to be his Dad.

But neither fast nor free
I stumbled through congratulations,
half aware of bedtime's elongating span.

So the teeth still haunt me,
and the tissues with their stain of red
and the music of an unselfconscious voice wanting to be recognised.

"Look at me," it says,
"I'm brave and grown up, really I am".

I know that feeling too.

(c) A McN


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Another Excellent poem - captures a very "simple" event and draws so much meaning into it.

can't wait for the next one


11:28 AM  

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