Monday, October 11, 2004

At three I think she is more aware of
The connection between her hands and her mind
Pudgy fingers dance in the air
Playing her imagination like the piper of Hamelin
A carseat no restraint for the leaps of the story unfolding
To draw her distant from the boredom of the ride.

Awaiting the change of a stop light one car behind,
I watch her hands spinning the tale
In silence her spell catches me, a memory
My children's hands too become so small and expressive
Reaching out to pull me back with them
Towards the place where we all lose our youth.

(Illustration by Kate Greenaway)

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