In the whining draughts
Of my grandparents’ house
When I was very small,
I’d sit on my potty by the open fire,
Safe from the bathroom’s arctic chill.
My grandfather would return from work
With the offer of a cuddle and a smile;
I’d jump into his arms, flashing a sighting
Of my bare derriere, my full moon of Brighton!
© Kim M. Russell, 2016