Heavy cotton hands
I gather snow with cotton mits,
in welly boots that skim my knees.
My tiny footprints sprinkled, white–
small tracks across December seas.
In anorak and fluffy hat,
I wade and crunch through winter freeze;
I skip and laugh through snowball fights;
I shiver, smiling, in the breeze.
The older children skate the ice
upon the river, frozen cold.
I’m not allowed to play with them,
without an adult I’ve been told.
Instead I shape a friend from snow
and choose the carrot for his nose
and fix him buttons for his eyes
and bring him daddy’s favourite clothes.
I shape and craft his wonky head,
in wet and heavy cotton hands,
in soggy boots with frozen toes,
which hurt as every footstep lands.
