Three plus one: four poems for a birthday

TORCH
I was born the day my mother stopped being pregnant
a full-baked warm wetness taking its first breath
flame flickering, a miniature torch; a moth fluttering
against the pane, the porch. She held: a curved moon-nail,
thistle-like lock, darkened milk; and the clarinetist curled
slow circles around the moon


WISH
the crack of eggs, the weight of flour, chocolate powder

3rd Birthday Communal �Jazz� Poem: Scratch

1.
When looking back
choose your mirror well

2.
This memory, I know, is less like a recording
and more like Chinese whispers
but still I replay it

3.
Who scratched, who scratched,
who scratched this surface?
Shud-shudder-shuddering
lined rep-rep
repetition

4.
Is it you, Lily, hiding again
behind white linen corners of the laundry line?
Your oboe voice criss-crossing time