baby

There is a picture on a wall,

of a mother and her child and they smile,

one up, one down

and you can feel the sun

setting somewhere

on the scene,

like an orange, falling off an orange tree,

tumbling,

tumbling to the cold dark ground,

crashing, splitting into shattered shells of what it was,

swerving and switching course

in the gust of wind

on a jungle gym

as up and down, up and down

the child clambers up and down

and says “Mum look!” and smiles around,

beaming as if, on holy ground, any footstep will lead to God,

for that’s what Mum said,

that’s what Mum says now

as she prays for her little angel

up

in the clouds.