I'd like to thank everyone for being here tonight.
Can everybody hear me?
OK.
And to thank the University of Arizona for inviting me.
It's a pleasure to be here.
I'd like to begin by reading a poem or two from my first book.
I'm sorry, I should say my second book.
That first one was a little chapbook.
I don't think of it as a real book.
This is Dance Script with Electric Ballerina is the book.
And the poem I'm going to be reading
is one that deals with childhood and coming of age
and a sense of legacy.
"The Great Aunts of my Childhood."
Buns hardened like pomanders at their napes.
Their famous good skin is smocked like cloth.
Stained glass rings out the light, and the old tub
claws the oil cloth.
Kit makes cups of bitter cocoa or apricot
juice that furs my throat.
Mame dies quietly in the bedroom.
She pressed the gold watch into my hands,
wanted me to take her middle name at confirmation.
Zita, saint of pots and pans, but I chose
Teresa, the little flower.
A face in the saint's book like a nosegay.
I chose this.
Blonde room, sprouting jade plants, electric necessities,
and nights that turn my nipples to cloves till dawn
pours in like wash water to scrub the floor
with harsh yellow soap.