The Child

The Child
Blonde kid on a beach
Holding Mummy's sandal in my little hand
Mouth in an unrestrained smile of glee
Hat on head, feet in sand
Smiling at the camera
At Daddy
Who's been there
Since life began
Held me tentatively in his arms
And listened to my first garbled words
Dada! Dada!
And learning to crawl
Watch me crawl, dada!
Rising onto wobbly legs
His eyes watch me. What's behind them?
Unrestrained hugs of love? Whoops of joy at my achievements?
Does he hold me close to his heart and say special things
To his little son?
And do I want to impress him, make him proud, live to hear his praises?
Do I feel his pain? Do I feel his Wall?
Lonely, so lonely in the dark.
Do I try to climb it? Crawl under it?
Vulnerable. So vulnerable.
A little blonde son, with innocent eyes.
Green eyes. The same shade as his.
Trying so hard.
Do I feel his eyes on me - critical eyes?
Picking at my weakness.
Got to be perfect!
Caught in a circle of the past.
And future?
Do I feel his lighter sides too, his laughs and sparkles?
Every day, his presence moulds me.
Seeps into my soul.
The circle turns.
Or does it?

Written:  1997