As/Is







7.27.2006


Daughter

The wood is slow
to crack when it's green.

Father chops the blocks
while I gather kindling-

the work between
a man and his daughter.

When it rains,
the fire is moist

and green, spitting
tiny, shooting stars.

My life began
like this-

two sticks
grinding

furiously
together

and what was
made;

a spark so faint,
so doubtful,

they called it
daughter.