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Melodies XLIX; A Young Boy's Words To His Father, An Alien, 4
I love to see my Mommy curl up on
the front porch swing, and draw her legs up while
she snaps green beans for supper. Gently, I
trace patterns, with one finger, on her soles---
sheathed in that soft, tan nylon. Her shy smile
lights up and, in those moments, will express
a humble, girlish, giddy happiness
that cannot be shattered by the distress
of what some others have called poverty.
But we have compensations that no one
can quite imagine. And what comes to me
from you---visions of the deep galaxy
adorned in all its stellar finery---
displays a most exquisite poetry.
