and slip into the space that you,
my youngest daughter,
have already found your way to,
plump and round and perfect
and smelling as only you do.
As I lay my body down beside you
you stir from your slumber
and cry out from your dreaming,
in your round two-year-old tongue,
“Open it ! Open it Mumma!”
As I scoop you up in my arms
pulling you in close to my heart,
and we lie still again together,
I feel a great heavy lid
opening in my solar plexus
like a Pandora’s box,
summoned by your mysterious demand,
and precious jewels, turning and spilling
into my blood stream,
tumbling through the cells of my body
like a prayer awakened,
and again you stir
and again you cry out
“Open it Mumma, open it!
Open my mandjarin!”
Lucy Pierce © 2013
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