Saturday, May 28, 2016

Two Poems by Ada Jenkins


Mother, you’re so funny

with your sterile, marbled emotions,
smooth to the touch.

And your words that bleed out of your mouth,
like a pig going to the slaughter.

Mother, you’re so funny

with your hot cross bun eyes,
and raisin mouth, round and puckered,
shriveled to silence like a piece of dead skin.

You’re so funny

With your numb white fingers
always pressing,
like a pen in my head.

But I’m not laughing anymore.

I’ve stopped laughing.


light, innocent, soft.
Newborn babies falling from the sky.

Landing, dissolving
wherever chance takes them:
subjected to nature's laws.

the perfect offspring,
seen but never heard.

Sculpted ice babies,
it’s a shame you have to melt,

It will be a slow process,
like a snake shedding its skin
or a caterpillar: hot and sticky,
struggling in its own secretions,
waiting to emerge

A drowning shadow in new light.

Slow for you,
but quick for us
as we watch in safety:
outsiders to your snow globe.

Dislocated from you
and your sadness;
rejections and bitter disappointments.

Your chiseled faces
dissolve together,
mutilated by the sun.

Thawed by the same bony fist
that waits for us all to melt.  

--Ada Jenkins

No comments:

Post a Comment