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More poems by Carolyn ForchéCarolyn Forché | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Carolyn ForchéBooks by Carolyn Forché

The Morning Baking

Carolyn Forché

Grandma, come back, I forgot
How much lard for these rolls 

Think you can put yourself in the ground
Like plain potatoes and grow in Ohio?
I am damn sick of getting fat like you 

Think you can lie through your Slovak?
Tell filthy stories about the blood sausage?
Pish-pish nights at the virgin in Detroit? 

I blame your raising me up for my Slav tongue
You beat me up out back, taught me to dance 

I'll tell you I don't remember any kind of bread
Your wavy loaves of flesh
Stink through my sleep
The stars on your silk robes 

But I'm glad I'll look when I'm old
Like a gypsy dusha hauling milk 

Added: 10 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 25 Apr 2018 10:41 AM | Viewed: 5719 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3530/ | Viewed on 25 April 2018.
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