from “Red, Requiem”

The White Girl (floating poem)

Your undaughter is born during a thunderstorm
a hurricane a nor’easter at the ocean a pop-up
blizzard in late March & April is the cruelest
month & she is born during a full moon a blue
moon a hunter’s moon a harvest
moon & you name her something
mythological or  archetypal or Gaelic or after
your  favorite doll & she is called Ariadne or
Jane or Fionnoula or Blythe & you take her to
the museum the library the playground Paris
Coney Island the Four Seasons in maryjanes
starched eyelet for high tea & she wears pigtails
wears bangs wears striped tights wears knit
cardigans & she knits or paints or writes plays
or playacts & plays the cello the piano sings
in a choirloft sings around campfires at girl
scout camp sings at bonfires on the beach
at night under fireworks & she loves peanutbutter
pickles olives softshell crabs coffee icecream ice-
skating body-surfing Shakespeare & you sing to her
hush little all the pretty little horse & cart turn over
the ocean beyond the sea & read to her Little Red

Riding Hood Little Women Little House on the

Prairie Bridge to Terabithia Narnia & when you
send her into the deep dark woods you arm her you
armor her she has a knife in her basket a needle in her
basket a bottle of wine a loaf of bread a spool of thread
a silver bullet & still & yet & everafter.


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