Thursday, June 01, 2006

For My Daughter

Looking into my daughter’s eyes she reads
my face like a buried book,
picking at the sod, the foreign roots,

the wind overhead, a sea coast
foaming fast ashore,
the night’s black blood frozen solid.

I see her in shorts being chased
by boys for her pretty legs,
her smiles, her many other wiles,

believe me, I am aware she may marry
a bastard, an imbecile, a man devoid
of poetry or place.

I had no daughter but she imagined me
and she persists in her creation
deep in her mother’s angry womb.

2 comments:

didi said...

I am wondering if you should start the poem with the last stanza and play a little with the rest of the order.

d.

RC said...

Didi,thanks for commenting.Actually,the poem is a take-off of the Weldon Kees pooem also titled FOR MY DAUGHTER.Here is the Kees poem.

For My Daughter

Looking into my daughter's eyes I read
Beneath the innocence of morning flesh
Concealed, hintings of death she does not heed.
Coldest of winds have blown this hair, and mesh
Of seaweed snarled these miniatures of hands;
The night's slow poison, tolerant and bland,
Has moved her blood. Parched years that I have seen
That may be hers appear: foul, lingering
Death in certain war, the slim legs green.
Or, fed on hate, she relishes the sting
Of others' agony; perhaps the cruel
Bride of a syphilitic or a fool.
These speculations sour in the sun.
I have no daughter. I desire none.