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Poetry

I’ve made plans to keep
a private heart, a heart

for God, I’ve made plans
to pray, and each time

I’ve planned poorly—no
time, no time, no spirit—

and my private heart
has been revealed

and it has been
embarrassing, like when

my daughter found
my little vibrator—pink

and smooth and fun
with one bright dial

to play with, and like
my snatching

it out of her hands,
and like her asking me

What is that
Mommy what is it for?


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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