Thursday, May 26, 2011


My five-month-old grand-child
Is on the other side of the screen
She has been put on a rocker
With toys for company
When I speak to her
She doesn't look at me
Turns to her companions
And smiles at them
While I coo over her cuddly image
My daughter's daughter;
I follow her every move
The way she smiles
Crinkles her eyes
Imagining something of me
In her somewhere
It is funny the way she prowls
On the floor
Keeping her behind raised
Turning on her axis seated
Suddenly putting some object
In her mouth
Sending me into a frenzy
Yelling excitedly at her mother
Busy in the kitchen;
I never tire of this
Every day waiting like a serial addict
For the afternoon three-hour session
Of this long-distance baby-sitting
The paternal in-laws do not know about;
It has always been like this
Playing with images,
Turning into images
Fading into images,
To be remembered every month
With favourite offerings
Perhaps named after
For form's sake
Then never called after.

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