Printer Friendly

Dear Mother of Weakness,.

    A boy who never begs, a boy like a siren, a boy like a tree, a boy
   mud-hungry and riverwashed, a boy unafraid, a boy whose hum is the
   sound of retreat, a boy who calls the bones in the earth to rise, a
   boy who licks salt from rocks he places on his bright tongue like
   the names of saints in litany, Selah, a boy whose mouth is a blur
   and a sneer and a honeycomb of psalms, a boy who is always the dark
   against the dark in the distance, a boy whose stationary body blocks
   the spilled yellow light of all windows, a boy with fingers
   juice-stained and nails dark with dirt, a boy who forges charms to
   send rain, a boy who plucks cicadas from the air and sings them from
   their shells--let him not come for me.
   Let him not arrive in the night.
   Let him not haunt me, this brown-eyed boy.
COPYRIGHT 2018 The Carolina Quarterly
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 2018 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Author:Warren, Amanda Rachelle
Publication:The Carolina Quarterly
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2018
Previous Article:How to Be Seen.
Next Article:Ridgerunner.

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Copyright © 2020 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters