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Teresa A. Phipps

september

Then the flowers became very wild

because it was early September

and they had nothing to lose

they tossed their colors every

which way over the garden wall

splattering the lawn, shoving their

wild orange red rain-disheveled faces

into my window without shame

subway station

The child is speaking to the father

he is looking into the father's eyes

The father doesn't answer

The child is speaking Vietnamese

The father doesn't answer

The child is speaking English

The father doesn't answer

The father is staring at a mosaic in blue and green

and lavender     three small ships in harbor

set again and again in the white tiled

beautiful     old     unrenovated subway

station     Clark Street      Brooklyn

time

Now time himself     the master streamer

grew

by pools and ponds

then strenuously     to accommodate the generations

became a sea

in which the fish and thee

my love     by dark and night light swim

and nations drown

it's true

Everywhere people love their children

even the father at the railroad station

in Windsor Connecticut

who will appear tomorrow in the morning paper

in drunken sorrow having beaten his baby

to the gasping edge of life

he stands this early afternoon

holding the child in his arms     telling her

between kisses     here comes the big train

listen to the whistle     and now look     look

the lady in that window she sees how beautiful

you are     she's waving to us

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