Today's poem is by Amy Graziano


When God takes a man he makes a baby,
      or maybe he takes three men and leaves

one woman torpified, if I made that word,
      I apologize, dear lord, for I am in your image,

it is only the porridge of the holy spirit.
      When my husband takes money

he leaves an aloe plant. I like the upkeep,
      little water, the gel-feel, in winter some flower.

Babies grow to resemble the men that God took,
      their cheeks soft, their eyes and build, age-old.

What does God do with these men,
      and why do some of them linger

in pubs or near piers, like mistakes,
      half-sheen, destined to repeat themselves?

Copyright © 2011 Amy Graziano All rights reserved
from National Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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