Page 19 - Contrast1979v22n2

Hunger Grandpa

Softly now she calls your name Smiling,
walking fretfully from the dream where you paint a picture
you're coming back to her of a child's dream.
It is of you,
the dream has no substance sugar frosting hair
a few meaningless words from me settle her and a stretched taffy hand
reaching out.
the only sound is the
gypsy moths Timid, the child reaches
crashing into the screen to it
as they flit into the nimbus of the porch light with one hand.
You understand,
you could lose sailing ships upon a storming sea, and paint her in too.
call ambassadors back from the far reaches
Sabrina Raccuglia
in a crumbling empire,
unhorse knights in shining armor,
or sing funeral dirges
but
the poet responds to different
textures, shapes and forms-

a man envisioning xanadu

loving you was to bring a strange touch into her life
that I cannot satisfy,
only hold in my arms
outside, in the night, history repeats itself:
the gypsy moths pay the cost of being

drawn into the light

Rick Roeker

17