Monday, November 26, 2012

poem

Avah and I have a new ritual: she picks up a book of poems from my nightstand and "reads" them aloud while I transcribe her words onto my computer. And so, this late November (indulgent) song to share with you.



the celing hung
with hookers

the words that I said
were
steaming here
and now
upon the window
sill
it made it pretty
looking
when I saw
the window
sill
it was painted
with blue and white
to see
the window sill
it was easter egg
peeking
at me
upon
the little window
yellow sill
it made it pretty
looking
it was made with pretty lines made with
sallow wills it made
my dad’s little pots made with hand me downs
made with hand me downs
my father said
it was made with fancy ones
with silver thread
when the window sill was on the little
sallow nill it was painted
silhouette when it came on the dale
it was painted silverness when it came on
the window sill
made the father’s
made the window
on the silver dale
it was in the sill!
in the sill there was an ant who did not fail
inside the world
that he said
inside everything
that he said
and made it bonnyo
and made it
in a poem
in the night of llamas
it was made with hand me downs
I heard my father exclaim
and it was fancy hand me downs
when I spring up to play!
it was filled with hand me downs
when I saw it
standing
there.