Today's poem is by Joanna Smith Rakoff
Late-Talking Children
Explain the dark
and the air that fills
it past all suffering. Explain
cruelty, memory, wordsor how they take
a shape withinif they
float or dangle and we grab
at them, hold close the onesour mouths can make,
the ones not stopped by tongue
or palate, those not drowned in spit.
We are not even thatwe use our mouths
to eat and scream or just
cry but we speak in unison
against you and the worldyou made. I shout
in unison with the sheep
in the meadow and I think that some
thing far from here is allthat 'meadow' means.
They keep us all in one
class and when you see us at
the bus stopstart or endof a tripyou must
think we are so good
and quiet, how we never fuss.
I wonder do they tellthe school inspector
what we are or why
we sit as we do, the pink lights dimmed
to make us comfortable,or does he just
think such workers, such
busy bees. Last year he did
not come inhe lookedin through the glass
beside the door. We busied
ourselves, began to copy things
from the wallthe shapes and things,things like the sheep
his words were mostly lost
in the glassnot lost but separated
I heard him say we areaffectionate
and see he saw us put
our cheeks to each other's cheeks,
saw our hands in ourhands, we put
the crayon in, and I see
the man beyond the skinny glass
as my sister, speaking helpme before
she ever walked. She crawled
toward a garden snake and had
it crawl to her and flickits tail or tongue
to her. Imagine the whole
muscled bodyits one long
intenstinethe dark insidethe darknessdry
scales against the scales
and the sound of itall near and not
much below and Iask you, we ask
you, what do you say?
Copyright © 2003 Joanna Smith Rakoff All rights reserved
from Crab Orchard Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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