|Sept/Oct 1999 spotlight|
Verse for a Sad Grandbaby
Hush now, don't speak,
right now the moon
is trying on her dress of clouds;
we must not interrupt the show.
We'll light twelve candles,
steal a star or ten,
eat buttered popcorn,
sing Christmas songs in June,
and talk about the zebra and her coat.
I'll tell you one and twenty stories,
acquaint you with the ant that danced,
the elephant that wore eyeglasses,
the boy that made it past the sun
bicycle and all,
and lend you that old handkerchief
embroidered by abuela, the one with posies,
to dry that spot of wetness near your eyes.
We'll eat hot garlic soup with bread
spoonfed with aeroplanes and trains,
watch a movie, groucho's antics
or pick a soggy one to cry
when sun and moon no longer fight,
we'll cuddle up
order confetti dreams
and sleep ensconced
in orange lullabies.