Poetry at Sangam



Our Little Pushkin by Allison Grayhurst

In the mornings I watch
your sleeping face like
a chinadoll’s, perfect in every way.
I see your smile when you awake
like I would a waterfall on my street corner.
I see you curled tight with joy,
and flinch at the noon day sun.
When I hold you to feed, and you talk to me
with playful glee, I love you more than
my heart can carry.
I think this blessing is stronger than death,
strong like an acorn tree growing.
All night you rest on a pillow in my arms,
we play with bright coloured dangling things,
and your navy eyes open wide
as your legs begin dancing.
You watch and watch like a Buddha in disguise,
taking in life with a calm and thoughtful presence.
You are the spring’s first butterfly, an owl on my shoulder.
You are wonder incarnate, freely showing
what grows so beautiful inside of you.