He stands, filling the doorway

with his silhouette,

his trousers tucked in his boots.

His family are gathered

to welcome his home coming

with smiles and laughter;

and the sun-darkened kitchen is

filled with music,

out of the blue, like birdsong.

It is all too much for me.

I let go the hand

and stutter across the floor,

crying “Milky moo!  Milky

moo man!” taking my

first words and steps together.

My mother’s loosed hand reaches

to cover her mouth.

Her mother busies herself,

finding something urgent to do

in the kitchen sink.

The milky moo man

crouches down on his hunkers

to gather up my falling,

almost upsetting his milk pail

with the broadness of his smile.