Helen Lehndorf
each morning, a small, hot boy clings to me, tired from his night terrors
at first light
he is a glass-bottomed boat
all open no mystery
at our circus all the sideshows have come crashing down
we’ve been voted off the island the tribe has spoken
we’re sick animals, chewing on grass to soothe our stomachs,
a green froth at the corners of our mouths
all we can trust is bodies and the body’s ways of telling
i am giving it all my strong, the boy says
shows us grit can be gift
shows us the long length of a short shrift
