MY CHILD

1st Prize Reuben Rose International poetry competition 2000, Judge Bill Freedman

For Ruthie

Keep your teeth, keep your fist
filthy fingernails, my little berry mouth:
the bees are awander don’t wear stripes.
Walk stealthily the wind hides in the roses
wanting to confuse fingers on thorns.
I have tired of all this doing and undoing
I am old rice on the plate.
I am food full and bleary eyed
my colors are puddles, traffic.
Quiet now,
I am frazzle nerved with waiting,
a spill over ashtray, you know, empty
and him that I met
where the relics are eggs and crackling underfoot:
turtle shells, passports, our old money,
all frayed and churned,
(wear blue so that stones
won’t reach for your eyes)
you are alone.