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Her tiny fingers grasp my hand;
dark pools of eyes follow me.
The first light creeps beneath the curtains.
Black curls like tendrils wind round
shell-like ears with rose-pink lobes.
Outside the world waits impatiently.
The dew on the grass is burning off.
In the distance, tongues of surf,
lick lazily up the wet, smooth sand.
Out at sea, white horses fret and foam.
I lift my daughter gently from the cot.
A tentative smile hovers on puckered lips.
My hands support a strengthening neck,
already through my fingers I feel the muscles tense.
Bare feet are kicking now against my waist.
A ray of sun touches the bed;
her eyes focus on the path of light.
Tiny, clenched fists wave excitedly.
I feel a determined grip on my collar.
In the garden the magnolia’s in bud.
Sarah Das Gupta is a poet from Cambridge, UK who has taught English in India and Tanzania as well as UK. She began writing aged 80, following a disabling accident. Her work has been published in over twenty countries in many magazines and anthologies. She has recently been nominated for Best of the Net and a Dwarf Star.