LITTLE NANA

---

She is smaller than ever;

though she says I am bigger,

and I have to stoop

to kiss her cheek

that is cold.

Here, in her shrinking unit,

it is always dusk.

The cars flicker outside

like mercury

and she is a shape in a room.

'That's a funny cup of tea',

she says crossly,

though she must have seen most

of what cups of tea

are capable of.

The rich dark liquid

is honey-lit

as it uncoils like rope

from a silver teapot.

'Yes', she says,

'she's got your father's hair',

to my daughter,

who sleeps in the carry-basket,

six weeks old,

wrapped in crotched warmth

with all those cups of tea

to look forward to.

Warrick Wynne