Charles Hood, Grains and Veins
And in My Arms
Picture anything—
you will know it when you see it
—say a pavilion of summer
a pond with a floating moon—
frogs singing the night in.
Now turn your back
to the pond the lily pads
and the reflection
of the moon.
You are facing a picnic table
but you can’t see it.
Approach it carefully
so you don’t bump into it
and bruise your leg.
The tablecloth is blue
—but invisible in the dark
you are still a child—brush
the rough wood of the bench
with your palm
—and sit down.
No, you don’t get a sliver.
Your mother and father
argue in the kitchen.
The screen door slaps shut.
—You hear mother’s light footsteps
on the porch stairs.
She sits down beside you
and wraps you in her arms.
_______________________
Dale Champlin
Review by Kevin Swanwick