My daughter calls me Mutti
Published
Topic
People
My son, my daughter,
thinking about you both, I stumble over words and images.
My daughter is like a Schubert lied, sung perfectly
phrase after phrase filling the air with ecstasy
a balm for silence
My son is like a comet through the dark sky
glowing and turbulent, too fast for thought
wondrous, ungraspable, yet sleeps
When you were small I used to sing a song
as we rode along, the three of us on one bike
Judy in her little seat in front
Daniel, legs dangling either side at the back.
It went like this:
Aren't I a lucky mummy
To have a Daniel and a Judy
To have a lovely shining Daniel
And a beautiful clever Judy.
How I miss you both now you have grown
and gone to live elsewhere
blown about the winds of the world
droplets in the palm of my hand
how every moment dear you are for me
how much, because of you, I understand