Grandchild

You lean your small body
closer into mine.
Your shyness
morphs into animation
as you tell me
of the snow sculpture
you made
an icy chair, you say,
sit-able
but not lean-backable.

This facility with words
delights me.
I want to pull you
on to my lap
put my arms around you
hold you close.
But we talk on
of planets, dinosaurs
where the ladybugs go in the winter
before you kiss me on the cheek
and stomp away in the snow
to find your friends
leaving me with a small
hole in my heart.

I join the grown-ups
in the backyard
where the talk there is of
weight loss and joint replacement
a newly acquired cough
the best wine for the money
and
teeing off.

Nanci Lee Woody, yourpoemdaily.com