For Kathy Meermans
Orange leaves float through air
like sunfish lazing in a pond
and the hungry boy with a cowlick
walks by my house again, dirty boy,
they say, who watched men set
his mother on fire.
brings him cheese and apples
in her blue cloth bag
and when he wipes his nose
on his shirtsleeve, she offers him
———-Think of how
with the same fingers that now
grasp his yellow pencil, he
will some morning lift out
the lenses of broken eyes,
his hands delivering the blind
to see how orange leaves can swim
through air—the rods and cones
he’s learned, the macula, the cornea,
while his old teacher still sneaks
food to broken kids, because?
Because God has no body here on earth
The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.