Poem of the Day
Study of Children
By Asha Futterman
did you know
that you all work for me?
I asked them as a joke
did you know
that you all work for me?
I asked them as a joke
Result: a wrist smiles weakly, unable to lift.
Result: a tooth grays, a lost tongue, a lisp.
I know the Summer-stained streets must fill, twice—
With Milk, with Flood—of Moon—and Blight.
The raging distemper finally forced me to breed
a new brand of silence.
And what shall we drink? Water from rivers
risen by snow that was desperate to melt?
For how long did it live as a single thought
among the serene meditations of unschooled fish
Now, according to some sources,
new golfing trends are a commodity,
along with silence, and sweetness.
It was a hot day in June.
Inside the aquarium it was so cool
after the bright light outside that
Half Border Collie, Half Black Strip.
Ruined. That's it. That makes the whole damn roll.
It's a sunset. In warm, declining light,
We could almost see her
said to have risen in the bay
from sea foam and the blood of Ouranos' sliced genitals
When I am nine, the British quit
India. Headmaster says, "The Great
Mutiny started it." We repeat.