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Another poet who spent
some time in Tucson,

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was studying here in his
early days, was Mark Doty.

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Here's a sweet poem.

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Also a poet of Provincetown.

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I know I've got some
Provincetown Mass friends here.

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So here's Mark for you.

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This is called Little Mammoth.

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Mother's milk in my belly
and a little of her shit

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too, so that I might eat of
the sour-green steppes that

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opened endlessly before me.

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Though not long after
I slid into sunlight

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and the grass world,

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I slid again into the
mudslide and screamed.

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And screaming, sucked
clay into my trunk

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till I lay on the bottom.

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My milk tusks not even sprouted.

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A sweet undercoat of fat
ready for my first winter.

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And I am still one month old and
40,000 years without my mother.

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