print previewback FRANCES BOYLE
Rocking Chair
Feet cold on wood floorfamiliar
back and forthlike worry they say.
Mehelplessin trying to know
the contours of this small personeyes
so blackancient eyes my dragon-
fierce colleague saidsoftening.
My girlpart of mean instant ago
it seems.In my arms
her skin against my skinno longer
pushing from insidebut stretching me
in a different way. A voice of her own
and a hunger of her ownthat I try
to satelong hoursrockingrocking.
Juice and muffins tableside for predawn
sustenancemy soles bare against the chill
satin of hardwoodpunctuation
of raised board seamsthe bowed
yield of rocker railswood on wood.
My night eyesmy baby’slooking
at the worldhand on my breast. 
Camel Hair Coat
Rocking Chair