2 September 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 3

Finally, who is here with us?

by JEN CURRIN

A man hits his granddaughter with a sock.

We are sinking deeper in the muck.

I stand on one foot like a duck.

All the cats follow me

across the gravel like sugar thieves.

So the wire bird abandons writing.

I give up

my plastic mouse.

The apartment lobby choked with incense.

Red leaves piled at the door.

A donkey who loves to drink wine.

A little piece of colored paper

for your mother on the Sunshine Coast.

I keep falling off the table. What do I know.

Erotic ideals. Orange and a slice of pie.

What do I know. The sun leaves me.

All the children I know are me.

In the desert we go barefoot and pregnant.

Finally, we reach the seventh day.

Finally, we reach the eighth sister.

Silence, I wish you sounded more like rain.