V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics




At school, I listened carefully all day
for novel words that I could say
when I got home. I liked to surprise my mother
with precarious, ravishing, or zephyr.
I felt the syllables fill my small
body. If I let them, the words did all
the work. I didn’t need to know their meanings,
only their sounds. Soon she would be leaning
toward me over the counter, or better yet,
pulling me to her as if we couldn’t get
close enough. We’d spoon together on the couch
while I recited, delighted in her touch,
her laughter and her fingers in my hair
as I tried to find more words to keep her there.



© by Gwen Hart


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