LAURA VAN PROOYEN
An Uncertain Sky Makes Her Wary of Stillness
She repeats to herself:
This is history. Pay attention.
The braided rug. Her bare
feet. The braided rug
means nothing. Pay attention.
Her baby’s knees. Scuff.
Crawling.
Fruit flies.
Cantaloupe rinds. Coffee
grinds. The sink. Pay
attention. The baby.
The T.V. Blaring.
The baby. The sink.
The sink. The city
in ash. The city
on fire. The baby.
The baby cannot
say fire. ![](../../images/bug_print.gif)
|