Grace Kippers Poems
All the witchhazel in the world
couldn't rid a sinner of her blemishes.
A cat turns over ribbon and fabricates
My mother seems helpless.
A big wide painting can keep the sinner company,
Yet fail to remove the hate that fractures her
My desk block moves,
Clocks are useless. I can say this from experience.
My father is a clock; forever keeping time and
The balls of fur that roll from my carpet
Can't seem to plug my ears
I'll be waiting to hear the truth.