Every morning, when light
comes through the window and trembles
like so many spoons on the floor,
A hundred poorly drawn fathers roll
onto a hundred shoulders, offer a hundred
contented hmmms, and fold themselves back
A hundred young sons hit
puberty. They sprout underarm hair
and begin to grow two hundred sinuous
biceps, unknowing. Breathing steady, broad sighs.
A hundred mothers wake with
two hundred aching, dry
breasts and gasp two hundred gasps
just as the sun rumbles upwards
and the light on the floor flattens
from wobbling spoons
a golden shell.
322 Review is a journal that publishes provocative emerging and established artists. Operated by Rowan University graduate students enrolled in the Master of Arts in Writing Program, 322 Review is aggressively seeking the best fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, mixed genre, and mixed media works of visual art.
Copyright © 2009