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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