The Full Moon of Brighton

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

img052 (2)