WEBVTT

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This next group of
poems is a group

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of four poems called "The Poet."

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And they have no titles, they're
just numbered 1 through 4.

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They said go, rise
each day with her,

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become the reliable
dough a family needs.

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I wouldn't.

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I walked away from
the kitchen, the store

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she was building in her breast.

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And everything grows dim, like
the little stone brought home

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from the shore.

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What will I bring if
I come to your house?

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A cold wind at the door.

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Bad dreams to your spouse.

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There isn't a tree
in your backyard.

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The lawns are plastic.

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The chairs are too hard.

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No, I wouldn't talk.

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I'd be full of spite,
and I'd strike my head

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like a match that won't light.

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Woman, mirror of all my sides, I
pass through you to the window.

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When I lay my hand on the grass,
forgive me if I call the Earth

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my child.

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Always poor, he knows the
crickets will leave him

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small jars of money.

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He waits.

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[PLANE FLYING OVERHEAD]

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I don't-- [LAUGHS]

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Always poor, he knows the
crickets will leave him

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small jars of money.

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He waits.

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He admires a weed.

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His dreams are addressed.

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At night by his desk,
he becomes a flower.

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Children are bees in his arms.

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A little pain making honey.