Watching Pictures Poem by Janet Budd

My smallest child is now bigger than me.
I’m five foot one. He’s five foot three.
He’s sitting close, his head on my knee
Quietly watching T.V.
Unaware of the pictures I see.
I want to freeze frame the pleasure I feel,

There’s a warmth welling up from the tips of my toes
To a tingle like tears at the bridge of my nose.
I rewind my memories back to a night
Thirteen or so years’ ago. Our house was quiet
Except for a baby, not long been born,
Waking and crying for nourishment and warmth.

As I tended this stranger, my newly born son
The intense warmth inside me, melted my soul
Whilst we welded, melded in bonded love.
Pictured instants, unique, preciously real
Fixed more permanent that transient images on film.
Engraved more deeply than stone is by steel