On Chinese New Year

My daughter tips her small head back
exposing soft throat
so that I may fasten
the frog clasp that decorates the high neck
of her lavender silk dress
from China

my hands feel too large and clumsy,
the narrow loop of ribbon
slips awkwardly through my fingers


I feel the sudden presence
of her birth mother’s hands,
a translucent overlay on my own
smaller, more delicate than mine
rough edged in poverty

longing to reach easily,
lovingly
for this small task

my heart catches


in the next breath,
the thin circle of silk
gently slides into place
over the adjoining taut round ball

held fast for the celebration



Catherine Heighway