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Grandmother Fugue Stranger, I cross your room Daughter, you cross my room looking you over as I go overlooking me as you go – to the window overlooking mulberries. the window, at least, sees Your will specifies ashes. how my will has beat this thing to ashes. I am never who you think I am. I am not, you think. I am. I wonder when I will have to arrange So make other arrangements chairs in the shape of a sonnet, for this chair that shapes me like a sonnet. hire a rabbi. It won’t be long. Hire a band. It won’t be long. The rhymes you sang to me as a child The rhymes I sang to you as a child I can only hum now, wordless. I can still sing. Listen. By Jen Karetnick Originally published in River Styx. Collected in Tales from Mango House, ©2007 by Jen Karetnick. Please request permission before copying or distributing. |
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