Mum makes
a pinhole in the paper,
holds it
in the sun –
a tiny
dot of light appears below
at the
centre of the shadow.
A pinhole
for a peepshow
she says
her eyes
shining
and we
wait
as heady moments
pass
and watch
at last
a tiny shade
move
across the
dot
an image cast
of
a
crescent sun.
I reach
out my hand
place a
single finger
in the
ray of light
to see if
I can feel its weight,
its heat
switch
fingers one by one
allow the
fleck of buried sun
to land
on each in turn
an
eclipse
projected
on my fingertips.
She smiles
at me
But then he
comes and
steps
between
the sunlight
and our
game
and I see
him place his
hand upon
her back to
claim her
–
her cotton
blouse
her
auburn hair
her tender
skin
her wings
he clips.
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