Wishes for Sons |
i wish them cramps. |
i wish them a strange town |
and the last tampon. |
I wish them no 7-11. |
i wish them one week early |
and wearing a white skirt. |
i wish them one week late. |
later i wish them hot flashes |
and clots like you |
wouldn't believe. let the |
flashes come when they |
meet someone special. |
let the clots come |
when they want to. |
let them think they have accepted |
arrogance in the universe, |
then bring them to gynecologists |
not unlike themselves. |
Lucille Clifton |
Monday, March 4, 2013
Wishes for Sons
Poem 3: MY LITTLE ONE
MY LITTLE ONE
My little one whose tongue is dumb,
whose fingers cannot hold to things,
who is so mercilessly young,
he leaps upon the instant things,
I hold him not. Indeed, who could?
He runs into the burning wood.
Follow, follow if you can!
He will come out grown to a man
and not remember whom he kissed,
who caught him by the slender wrist
and bound him by a tender yoke
which, understanding not, he broke.
Tennessee Williams
My little one whose tongue is dumb,
whose fingers cannot hold to things,
who is so mercilessly young,
he leaps upon the instant things,
I hold him not. Indeed, who could?
He runs into the burning wood.
Follow, follow if you can!
He will come out grown to a man
and not remember whom he kissed,
who caught him by the slender wrist
and bound him by a tender yoke
which, understanding not, he broke.
Tennessee Williams
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