L a u r e n   G o r d o n

 

 

Your poem is learning language,

how to ask for what she wants

and then your poem is yelling

 

at the dog in a perfect imitation

of your voice so you think:

I have to be more

 

but then you catch your poem

kissing her reflection in a teaspoon

and suddenly your poem is toddling

 

without your hands and there you are

under the glass

like a pressed, breathless violet.

 

 

 

copyright 2014 by Lauren Gordon