Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

One comment

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 the author of the forthcoming volume of poetry, The Four Ugliest Children in Christendom as well as a chapbook, Full. A former Literary Mama book reviews editor, her work has appeared in Cream City Review, Mid-American Review, Indiana Review, and Menacing Hedge. She teaches writing at Pennsylvania State University.

More from

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.
Comments are now closed for this piece.