16 November 2020

For Emma in New York

 

I look into her eyes

and see the little girl

hard at work

unriddling the world.

They said she’d

been here before

when she was born

this child of mine.

Perhaps that’s why

she throws herself

into the fullness of life

knowing it is counted

in a blink.

When she falls

I pick her up

and kiss the bruises.

Some I cannot reach.

They land inside

hidden from my view.

I know they hurt

behind her smiles.

She is beyond brave

this child of mine.

I’ve watched her

bounce back

time after time

not unlike

when she was three

on a trampoline

in Melbourne

refusing to stop

even for the dark.

She was reaching

for the stars.

She paints them

in her music

and if you listen

to the variations

on the theme

of her life

you can hear them.

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