Little Me

Little Me

A photo on the mantel
has gnawed me for years.
It's not because I am wearing
a blue, dotted dress
standing confused with
one red 'Mary-Jane' in the mud.

Or because I fight for space
between two Dungaree heavy brothers
An a Spider plant.
It's because I am looking at me,
looking at me
But can't swear on my Mother's life,
what I have clasped in those small, fat-less hands.