I.
First smash the chemistry set
you were given years
ago for Christmas. Forget
water, and try
to forget salt.
Not that kind of solution.
II.
Sometimes the solution is “Huddle closer together.”
Sometimes the solution is more
humane: pick a male child, drive
a nail through only
one of his feet.
III.
Every minute, no matter the season,
a young, disadvantaged girl is in need of a coat
hanger to solver her problems.
IV.
Here is a room in which
there is no furniture except
a mirror facing a bare wall.
Days pass.
No breeze and no guests.
The wall grows barer, the mirror
follows suit.
Don’t lecture me on resentment.
V.
Road Kill—a strong-boned deer
with her peach belly split.
Stop the care, get out, kneel and sift
through the slow dazzling guts
for a solution.
VI.
Most solutions don’t materialize.
Or they do, but only halfway,
like God at the foot
of the bed of a little girl
praying for him, hard.
VII.
Now every attempt to recall water or salt
only brings back the solution,
the sea: its white caps, its cruel
black bottom.
A childhood spent swallowing
mouthful after brackish mouthful
of what love.
