Because Jennifer Requested It

My 9/11 poym, which--sadly--took me three years to write:


was a Flying Nun lunchbox,
and the just-hatched
teacher’s blond ponytail,
cinched low on her tender neck.

It was the last of long days,
stretching like a cat’s back;
skies clear and sharp
as hand-blown glass,
pierced through with footballs
or by the perfect high C
hit by the marching band’s
solo trumpet.

It was the new boy’s
dimples, worth giving him
something to smile about,
bending over his desk, straight
shot down my blouse,
for a moment as fleeting
as August,

and every fall
moment after, green
burning into gold, until

finally, it was my own
fledgling girl,
with her milky skin
and bird’s nest hair,
waving goodbye
from the school bus window,
the world ahead of her,
looming like a skyscraper.

1 comment:

Jennifer said...

Thank you! I think this one is great!

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