|I walk past the April Maple,
so full of sparrows
it seems the leaves sing,
onto the parking lot by the hardware.
It's a cloudy morning.
I ask: what did my face look like
before my parents met?
(the sound of a hand clapping)
the full circle of the sky stirred my hair.
I could see behind my head.
. . . what does my face look like now?
Milkweed Chronicle, Vol. 3, No 1/2, Minneapolis, MN, Spring/Summer 1982 Sandscript, East West A Poetry Annual, Vol. I, Cape Cod Writers, December 1992
Back to SF Poetry Page
Back to SF Home Page
Page updated by TiPi, 3/24/2004