A poem inspired by watching my son learning to sit…
You are made up of curves:
The curve of the back of your head in my palm,
The curves of your fists when you explode with joy,
Your belly curving naked in the delight of the bath.
You are made up of curls:
The curl of your body as you lie sleeping,
The curls of your ridiculously long fringe,
Your finger curling over your nose when you suck your thumb.
You are all curves and curls,
Except for your back.
Your back is as straight as the stalk of a sunflower,
holding up your curved, curly head.