Carolyn Forché

(28 April, 1950 - / Detroit, Michigan)

The Morning Baking - Poem by Carolyn Forché

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


Comments about The Morning Baking by Carolyn Forché

  • Rookie Andrew Fincham (10/25/2006 5:04:00 AM)

    Vivid - and loving.
    Thank you. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: sick, dance, remember, sleep, star



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



[Hata Bildir]