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