Stunned by the bolt
of genesis, high-browed,
big royal-blue eyes
wide awake,
pale-faced princess,
we gave you the title
of a queen - Elizabeth, the third
girl, our fifth off-spring,
sister of twin, John;
our last-born
sugar-darling.
As soon as you could
shuffle over our floors
you found that you could open a door
by pulling yourself upright
with the aid of its knob.
With this
inside intelligence
there was nowhere safe:
our stuff was yours, and the house
became your pen.
Rowen, the eldest, Jessie and Jules -
even then were your slaves,
stooping and skivvying for you.
I caught your sister,
scooping you
from your nest-bed like a bird.
Pointing
an imperial finger,
Jessica! you said – with zest -
your first word.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In the penultimate line, the word 'Jessica' is italicised in the original, but this site does not enable italics, sadly.