Today my kids are skipping <br /> over your threshold and you not here. <br /> The ones you never dandled, <br /> pronounced prodigies: My kids <br /> who only know your photograph. <br /> <br /> I'm busy clearing the path <br /> that twenty years ago I skipped <br /> to find you at kitchen table, <br /> sweating in a vest, wheezing, <br /> door open for the draught. <br /> <br /> Your eyes follow me as I go back <br /> and forth with dolls, drinks, books <br /> to make an island paradise on the lawn. <br /> Your face is weatherbeaten brown, <br /> white upper arms are soft baby flesh. <br /> <br /> As you sip black tea, your bitter cup, <br /> You listen to the radio. <br /> It's Just a Minute, just a minute ago.<br /><br />Angela Topping<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/just-a-minute-4/
