Online Poetry

Holding Bread

So Much the Stronger

Sara's Fruit

UFOS

21 MAY 1979

She clings, small fingers pinching 
What we've grown into

Brown eyes huge in
Her baby’s face

Reflected in the still bowl
Before I wash my face

I can look at her full now
Grief and penance done

As I pry her loose
So much the stronger

I have to fold her like a shirt
To fit her in the crate

Not yet able to talk, those eyes
Follow me hopelessly

As I sort through the nails
Pick up the hammer

There’s no place in my house, no
Closet remote enough

Even if she doesn’t cry
I’ll know she’s there

I’m driving around town
Looking for where to dig

18 August 1996, 2:15 p.m.