by Gary Haskell
Freshly freed from her mother’s
her tininess fills the sterile room.
First gulped air, airs her plea;
“Look at Me, Daddy,
Look at Me!”
With inches bought
by selling years
The baby leaves, a young
Dress-up, dolls, parties of tea;
different forms of “Look at Me.”
Another man stands by her side.
A band plays, “Here Comes
On Father’s face the tears
Perhaps the final, “Look at Me.”
Freshly freed from her
her tininess fills the
Laying in total serenity:
“Look at Me, Grampy,
Look at Me!”
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- POETRY CORNER: Contrails
- POETRY CORNER: God’s Wonders
- POETRY CORNER: Impressions of the old farm
- POETRY CORNER: Be Still
- POETRY CORNER: She Can’t Remember (to Katherine)
- POETRY CORNER: Gone are the Days
- POETRY CORNER: I am a veteran
- POETRY CORNER: Dirty Snow
- POETRY CORNER: Eat, Sleep, Repeat
- POETRY CORNER: Fly Away