screeching like baby birds
in a crowded nest ~
dumplings frying
on the fourth day
I named the fly
howard
my senile father
eats the fortune cookie
and the fortune
our beautiful old love
on such thin ice
we can't even shiver
a splinter
pulled from my thumb
spit into the fire
because of my old father
my old mother has learned
to make baby food
after the storm
an apology
of soft rain
going out the door
i pass a grape that had
rolled away from breakfast
a fence between
the cemetery and the road
leans toward the road
mountains disappear in fog
and i want to go right along
with them
_____________________________
selected from ~
Ronald Baatz
In A Clay Pig's Eye
Seastone Editions, 2005
