 |
|
|
|
|
User Rating:
|
|
5.5
/10
(31 votes)
|
|
|
|
| |
Grandma, come back, I forgot
How much lard for these rolls
Think you can put yourself in the ground
Like plain potatoes and grow in Ohio?
I am damn sick of getting fat like you
Think you can lie through your Slovak?
Tell filthy stories about the blood sausage?
Pish-pish nights at the virgin in Detroit?
I blame your raising me up for my Slav tongue
You beat me up out back, taught me to dance
I'll tell you I don't remember any kind of bread
Your wavy loaves of flesh
Stink through my sleep
The stars on your silk robes
But I'm glad I'll look when I'm old
Like a gypsy dusha hauling milk
Carolyn Forché
| Submitted Date |
: |
Monday, January 13, 2003 |
|
|
Read poems about / on: sick, dance, remember, sleep, star
|
|
 |
Poets
