REGIONAL METAMORPHOSIS
1. Thanks, mother,
for the surgical
gloves,
and my lawn
gnome uncle
for the gemological
hammer,
and the State
of New Hampshire
for the
plastic bag.
2. I'm tapping
rocks on the
side of the
highway, looking for
mineral specimens
that in color,
cleavage and tenacity
declare what's wrong
and hypocritical
and breaking
under our feet.
3. My preschool boy
is sleeping
in the hospital,
saline dripping time
into a doll-sized hand.
4. Eyes of my little
girl reflect
flames lit
by her pregnant
mother, wanting
no one to cross
her ring of fire,
as the Hebrew hut
of uncleanness
and comfort is gone.