← v20n2, Fall 2021
Poetry · Volume 20, Number 2

Rocking Chair

Mehelplessin trying to know

the contours of this small personeyes

so blackancient eyes my dragon-

fierce colleague saidsoftening.

My girlpart of mean instant ago

it seems.In my arms

her skin against my skinno longer

pushing from insidebut stretching me

in a different way. A voice of her own

and a hunger of her ownthat I try

to satelong hoursrockingrocking.

Juice and muffins tableside for predawn

sustenancemy soles bare against the chill

satin of hardwoodpunctuation

of raised board seamsthe bowed

yield of rocker railswood on wood.

My night eyesmy baby’slooking

at the worldhand on my breast.