David Dabydeen
Turner
I dream to be small again, even though
My mother caught me with my fingers
In a panoose jar, and whilst I licked them clean
And reached for more, she came upon me.
I sit in the savannah minding cows,
Watching it climb and plunge all day.
When I strip,
Mount the tree and dive I hit my head
On a stone waiting at the bottom of the pond.
She bids her famished children eat
Of their father’s...
