The Baby Stretches
The baby stretches—
her limbs a little longer than yesterday
her voice more assured—
imagine, to go to sleep and wake
bigger, on a new shore
a new shoreline
feet getting used to this body
this land,
again and
again
Day Dream
We hold them while they scream for hours
worn out from another day of wanting more.
As surely as the shore rises to meet the next wave—
our shoulders and our arms become foothills, dunes
holding heads.
Our patience thins.
The ocean stretches on.
This is what I tell myself when I'm not thinking
of how quickly it shall pass.
Her footprints in the sand walking away from me.
The sea gets to them first.
To have that power to disappear? Not just presence but
absence as well—to lose it all in a swell,
to absolve what has never been, there is no memory.
Rose Anderson writes for children and adults. She has been published by “The Big Issue” and “Another Chicago Magazine”, among others. She has a diploma in Creative Writing and B.Sc. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand with her daughter, and their favorite thing to do together is visit the beach. Website: https://sparkingtheflash.wordpress.com/publications
