For my mother
In sink, sun
So close to mock-orange tree
Leaves of an escarole
Crisp and crack their veins
Beneath green-as-death gaze
Of two childlike trout
Soft-wood dish rack
A few shivering strawberries
And beside them, two rings
She has just slipped off
Looking out into distance
At zest of a past
From which she does not return.
So close to mock-orange tree
Leaves of an escarole
Crisp and crack their veins
Beneath green-as-death gaze
Of two childlike trout
Soft-wood dish rack
A few shivering strawberries
And beside them, two rings
She has just slipped off
Looking out into distance
At zest of a past
From which she does not return.
Feet cooled by sand
And already torn by salt
Tonight, when moon, hardened with frost,
Carved stars into jewels of light
Just at edge of a brow of stone
In cleft rock where sea boiled o'er
As starved sex would open, rosy and proud
I saw, resting still in depths of strait
My own boundless eye, mocking me.
Leave upon my face
and body the trace
of my battles
of my victories
of my windows of distress.
where, year after year, paths have been tattooed?
Don't you find that my arms embrace better now?
That my thinner lips are less afraid to love you?
Leave me strength it took to become
child I carried within.
