INFANT POET by Eric Rosenbloom copyright 1998 The baby’s suck remakes the severed cord, The nourishing tube in the belly’s warmth, So now to the breast’s sustaining flow He gropes, to seal the bond in his lips. And drawing crayon to paper Lines that tie his hand to yours He scribbles his place, His world, and you and me. Himself he makes with pen on paper, Pure skin of the body against The marks that grope to know it, Pages he has wrapped around us. |