Monday, May 25, 2020

What you get for thinking - a poem by Karen Chamisso


Baby baby they sing they say
They hold on they hold out they lay there
Dead to go and going to stay
Baby Baby they clutch everywhere

That is me, the everywhere my traveling show
Of me and mine and all things divine
-ly self that is dead to go
In the utter throb of my mother line

From the thumb to my heart, you got that?
Baby baby until I stand
Wrinkle in one hand, what I spat
Out in the other, not understanding, you understand?
-Karen Chamisso

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