Sweet Girl
despite creases banding my neck, a book
at the bar, or dim sum for one, I have walked
infinite blocks pushing the pram of you, marking
fine-veined & calyxed things as if to call each
fine-veined & calyxed things as if to call each
quince to fruiting with my recognition, mouthing
name after name—still, yours I need to learn so
name after name—still, yours I need to learn so
tell me sweet girl, how to greet you—since
my mamma doesn’t believe in you or in my ability
my mamma doesn’t believe in you or in my ability
to bear another being—I try to tell her
I have miles, marathons, behind me, ahead—
I have miles, marathons, behind me, ahead—
that I am far from done & will run to the ends
of service roads; steady, then slow over potted
of service roads; steady, then slow over potted
ramps, lean for the merge in curlicues, will bow
convex to interstates, that no state can wreck an all-out
convex to interstates, that no state can wreck an all-out
love—she says I am in vain
