Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

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He pulls each rock from its place,
draws it close to his face, and licks it,
pronouncing 'Good' with such assurance
that I can almost be convinced to tongue
the thing myself.  The blue-green-gray stones,
hot from the sun, teach my child difference—
hot, cold, big, little.  He smacks them together,
clinks them with me, a kind of toast to a day with sun.
I tell him, 'You can’t eat rocks.  Only the sea eats rocks,
then spits them out as sand.' 'Good,' he says, this boy
who knows the world first by tongue, as if tasting
puts the words in his mouth, giving him grace
to pronounce what he knows to be true—good, good, good.

Camille-Yvette Welsch is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet and the author of the chapbook, FULL. Her work has appeared in The Writer’s Chronicle, Indiana Review, Mid-American Review, From the Fishouse, Menacing Hedge, Radar Poetry, Cream City Review, and other venues. She teaches in central PA and is a former book reviews editor for Literary Mama.

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From one Penn State MFA grad to another: This is a lovely poem, Camille-Yvette. I admire how it blends the senses, captures child/language development, and approaches religious fervor--all in just 13 lines! Cheers.
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