Pratt puts a baby and his grandmother side by side and treats what each is doing as work. The baby is figuring out the world: how bowls and kettles feel, how hollow things echo, whether his legs will hold him, whether his food will taste strange. His yelling gets an answer from the people around him, and the closing question wonders if today his sounds will turn into words.
The grandmother's section mirrors his. She stirs beans and herbs in her own kettle, tries to recall half-forgotten harmonies, and wonders where her feet will take her. Where the baby is gaining abilities, she seems to be holding on to them, or letting some go. The speaker doesn't announce a feeling, but the questions sound tender and a little worried. The mood is quiet and gentle, with an undertone of sadness in that last line about silence. The poem suggests that learning to speak and learning to live with loss are both real labor, and both deserve attention.