MY DAUGHTER
IS A BOOK READER
MY DAUGHTER
IS BORN WITH EMPTY HANDS
MY DAUGHTER
IS A SMALL MERCY
THANK
HEAVENS
DOROTHY,
IRIS, URSULA – SHE DOES NOT THANK US
LIKE ANY
CHILD HER EQUATIONS ARE A HARSH CRITIQUE
BUT WHEN
SHE SAILS WITH HER MOTHER
AND THE
WIND IS UP
SHE SMELLS
IODINE
AND THE
TIDE TURNS
SHE LOOKS
TO THE HELM
TEN MINUTES
BEFORE I DIE
FOR ALL
THAT I’M WORTH
MY YOUNGER
MY BETTER
LOOKING DOWN
AT ME
EARTH IN A
BED
HOLDS HER
HANDS OUT
NOTHING FOR
ME
NO CURE
NO HOPE FOR
ME
FINISHED
MY DAUGHTER
MAKES ME INTO A SHADOW
MY DAUGHTER
TURNS HER HANDS PALM UP
SHE SAYS THAT’S
IT YOU’RE IT THAT’S ALL YOU’RE DEAD
SHE LEAVES
THE ROOM AND CREASES HER FACE
AND PERHAPS
IN THE BACK OF A CAB WITH HER MOTHER
WRITING
NOTES ON AN ENVELOPE BESIDE THE HELM
SHE FINDS A
NEW WAY OF ADDING UP
WITH A
CLOSED BRACKET
SHE UPENDS
MATHEMATICS
ABANDONS
THE POSESSIVE –
DAUGHTER
HAS
MULTIPLIED MY EFFORTS
BY AN ORDER
OF MAGNITUDE
THE HELM
AND HER SAIL AROUND THE FINAL MARK
LEAVING ME
FOR DUST
SMILING
CAPSIZED BOBBING DAZED