Poem Fragments

Yusef Komunyakaa From "Prisoners"

I remember how one day
I almost bowed to such figures
walking toward me, under
a corporal's ironclad stare.
I can't say why.
From a half-mile away
trees huddle together,
& the prisoners look like
marionettes hooked to strings of light. 



Eavan Boland  "Pomegranate"



It is another world.But what else
can a mother give her daughter but such
beautiful rifts in time?
If I defer the grief I will diminish the gift.
The legend will be hers as well as mine.
She will enter it.As I have.
She will wake up.She will hold
the papery flushed skin in her hand.
And to her lips.I will say nothing.

Easter Baskets

It is always cold with misty breaths
and biting wind.
We bundle up
in blankets,
coats,
robes,
anything.

The dog,
eager to help,
restrained by a leash,
watches
curiously.

The youngest finds my basket first
in a bag
hidden in a tree.
He walks away
but his time spent
with empty hands
hints
at something
being found.

The oldest next finds the youngest's.
He walks away quickly
but the owner
has already seen
and claimed
his basket as first found.

The oldest watches as I find mine.
Curiously.
Then hopefully.
Then disappointedly
as I claim what is mine
and walk away
hands full.

Soon, the last game
begins.
Cold,
cold,
warmer,
warmer,
cold,
and hot,
as the aunt guides
the oldest
to the final basket.

Finally, the game
is done
and we walk back inside
for warmth
and candy
and family.

Easter has begun.