Song: Early Death of the Mother
The last tear turns
to glass on her cheek.
It isn't ice because,
squeezed in the boy's hot
fist, it doesn't thaw.
Gregory Orr
Posted over on Valparaiso Poetry Review
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Glenn Buttkus
dVerse Poets
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1 comment:
That isn't the whole poem. You should get the rest, because it is really very beautiful... let's see if I have it lying around....
Ah here it is.
"The last tear turns/
to glass on her cheek./
It isn't ice because/
squeezed in the boy's hot/
fist, it doesn't thaw./
It's a tooth with nothing/
to gnaw; then a magical/
thorn: prick yourself/
with it, thrust it in soil:/
an entire briary/
kingdom is born.
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