04/09/09

what I know best is where my mother carried me,
What I know is leaning with its elbow, slightly,
inside me, waiting for a notice, a sliver
of a map into the world I now walk.

What I know gives itself to me in images,
in the desert-child I’ve ignored too long—
she stands near a fence, picks mountain-names
and sandalwood from her own body, which is the earth.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s