I look to the left.
My daughter is
bouncing,
dancing to the
enthusiastic beats.
Clapping in time.
A quick flash, memory,
now sustained.
I tear as I recall her
hands on crib rail,rocking to the same
beat, joyous for the movement.
Babe in warm morning pajamas.
Rocking for the joy of it.
©Kathleen Moors
