Pagosa Springs Artists

The Visitor

 

The trust of a small child
washes over me in waves,
knocks down my adult defenses,
sweeps away all sophistication
with a flurry of sincerity,
frothy with mirth.

Mischievous eyes quiz me:
can you follow me under the table,
grandma?
as baby teeth peek from the grin:
 can you do this, too?
with a suddenly solemn:
could we run grandpa’s trains?
then an unexpected pout, a tearful protest:
but I want to hold it...

Unreasonableness that shouts
I’m tired, grandma, I’m hungry;
so cookies are quickly found,  laid out
with drink of milk to wash them down,
and when head softly crashes beside the glass,
peace opens up like a still lagoon
in the heaving midst of childhood’s ocean.

 

first published in St. Anthony’s Messenger

©2002 Bonnie Manion

   

Poem of the Month

  • October - 2019
  • "Rich"