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My children made of tiny tin lights

by Bob Arcania

My children made of tiny tin
lights, you are suspended
from morning sun cozies
which dip like swan necks over sleep.

I had a truck that fit six
of you in its bed, each glowing December
rain drops on foreheads.

With your pinprick finger
tips, you tread ice cream beneath
open mouths like verandas.

I swim in pools of your navel,
your honeydew sweet skin,
while you listlessly settle into
magazine covers.

And as you sing sonnets
the way crickets move in hesitant
leaps, I dust my head to pillowcases
sewn with your down hair.

12/14/2006

Posted on 12/14/2006
Copyright © 2024 Bob Arcania

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 12/15/06 at 06:52 AM

I am so glad I read this, I don't know how I got here, but I will not forget! I always suspect detailed almost photographic description in the case of such wonderful surrealism...at least that's the way it happens to me. Excellent.

Posted by Ava Blu on 12/12/12 at 03:23 AM

All of your poems are better than 99% of the others here.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 10/31/14 at 12:54 PM

what can I say about this ode but it is soulfully articulate and affecting all the senses in that it grabs you with its exquisite rhythms and shakes you to the poetic core as has a reader yearning for more.

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