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.