To Victoria at One and a Half

Your soft, warm hand
wraps round my finger
as we hup-two from room to room.

You stir-stir-stir
imaginary dishes
with that bright, round-cheeked grin.

You sing in a voice so high
only angels and dogs can hear you.

You laugh and laugh.

You are too much for poems,
my warm blonde cherub.
You fill my hugs, my hands, my days
with all of your magic, and still
I keep trying
to chase you down
with simple words.

You are a ribbon in the wind
and I, the tree you're tangled in
for now.



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All works on this site Alicia Bayer unless otherwise noted.
Don't take it - that would be rude.