helen sandler | poems

Turning two, you know all the best words

like car, bye-bye, teletubby, square and fish

plus babytalk, nonsense, speaking in tongues,

jabbering happily to yourself and us

or wailing in despair when it all goes

pear-shaped: your nosh brought out in the wrong dish,

say, or an innocent aunt picking a

variant spot on the floor to park your pud.

Do you know how that aunt, stroking your bare back,

is made new herself, how she lights like a

menorah when you ask her for a hug?

You understand so little and so much.

Soon you’ll tell us anything you like

and all you want. Till then, Oui-oui sounds good.

Robert the Muse and Helen
pretend to be more interested in books than television