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sycamore

ALMOST ABOVE THE TREES

David Selzer By David Selzer7 Comments1 min read623 views

We were in the canopy among the owls

amid limes and sycamores at the top

of a three storey Victorian semi.

Ours was the children’s floor and the nannies’.

We furnished, decorated, carpeted.

We had our books, our prints, our piano –

and our child quickening in your belly.

I would feel it kick. Our neighbour one floor down

ran off with an actress. His little boy

rattled his play pen all day. In the winter,

mould grew in the bathroom, the gas boiler

shed bits of metal, ships on the river

blasted their fog horns. She was born in May.

Her cot was under a skylight. Leaves

stroked the glass, sunlight dappling her loveliness.

 

 

 

ON BECOMING TWO

The party guests arrange themselves for a group

photo with the birthday girl at the centre.

She watches us position ourselves – some

on the sofa, some on the floor in front,

some standing behind – then runs to the tripod

and presses the remote… After the guests have gone,

she draws her first spiral – clockwise, perfect,

a spira mirabilis – then carries

her Pooh balloon around the room, requesting

Postman Pat… She hides under her special

blanket. ‘Where is she?’ we chorus. ‘Has she

gone to the river to feed the ducks?’ ‘No,’

she answers, muffled but unequivocal…

Next day, she goes to see the butterflies

in The Glasshouse – each larger than her hands splayed…

Later, she watches a pair of blue tits

begin to occupy the nesting box

on the sycamore though cold winds blow

and there are ten more weeks of winter…

Wonder jostles wonder. Nothing is mundane…

How robust she has become! How delicate still!