POEMS FOR MY DAUGHTER PEAR:

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

ABCD

This shade is my belly babying Pear.
She's breathing from my one lung.
She's drinking from what used to be me.
I'm painting browns and greens as if
I have become a tree.
Her reflection will mirror her mother.
Will God provide enough rain?
Or will Pear's teardrops float outside of
Our own umbrella's umbilical cord
Until I am planted under the un-moistened brown?

EFG

Pear has seen the grace from a swan's seim.
I watched Pear's ocean-blue eyes as her
Cheeks moved side to side in rhythm
With the swan's movements against the water.
The two wer graceful as each could be,
Yey floating on opposite ends of an old elm tree.

HI

I will teach Pear to sew
if she will
Stay off the cover of Cosmopolitan.
I will saunter with Pear in the park
if she will
Stay holding my hand.
I will swim next to Pear
if she will
Button her dress and forget
About the zippers on mine.

JK

Pear and I watch
The yellow sunset against her auburn wisps of hair
Each night before the moon lights the sky
And I am reminded of the Little Havana.
The tree I stood against that night. My black high heels
That tore a strap at daybreak. I am reminded of the kiss.
Of the kiss.

LMNOP

Water falls from the shower and I cry.
I cry for the days when I could dance in blue.
My eyes well for green eye shadow and pear
Lipstick and cemetaries with all of the people
Placed before me from which I never painted
A single nail for them. Not one.

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QRS

Pear turned red in the face.
She was crying.
She heard the blow-dryer.
She smelt the lavender.
She felt the towel that fell from my nakedness.
But I forgot.
I forgot to peek-a-boo before I painted my face.
Pear didn't forget. Pear painted her face for me.

TUV

Pear teaches me to listen. She teaches me to read.
She teaches me to pray. She teaches me to smile.
She teaches me to dance. She teaches me to sleep.
Pear teaches me to stay.

WX

Pear is learning to play the piano.
Pear is touching the keys.
Pear is hearing the tunes.
Pear is learning to play with others.

Y

Pear came a month early. I suppose both of us were eager to see
each other. I had been expecting her that day. Nobody believed
me. Nobody but Pear.

And

Z

Pear's fingertips touch the scar on my neck when she wraps her
arms around me. Her mouth stays open as she slides it over the obling
bump. Pear's hands grab the scar between my two breasts. And she stays.
Pear stays with them and me and somewhere in between.

E-mail Catherine Berg at Bergblane@aol.com

 

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All poems on this page are
Copyright 2005 and before
by Catherine Berg

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