Lullaby
What does the poet call
a loss of words?
She calls it widest pupil.
They call it skewered sight.
How precise the nerves
that bear the toll of language.
Once there were stories
I didn't want true about me,
but here I am, twisted
with appetite. My mother
said I was a curious child.
She meant it as a gift.
Pirate moon, the
rapture of deep sleep,
build me a fortress
for my mantle.
__________________________
Carmen Giménez Smith
Cruel Futures
City Lights 2018
