Care of the Body
Care of the body was sweet
besides there was nothing else.
I said are you hungry she seemed angry that she was.
If you saw what you had given years to
fish swimming on disposable placemats
you could do it
one hand tied
behind your back.
On good days we went to the Dollar Store
spill of toothbrushes, tiny porcelain dogs, red
plastic roses, bins and bins of books with blank pages
everything she now would never make good
no time to start thinking
too late for that.
Shiny bright knives of light on the sheet in the morning.
Would you like pie? It’s lemon.
Why shouldn’t I?
A crispness to kindness.
Karen Kevorkian’s book of poems is White Stucco Black Wing (Red Hen Press). Recent work appears in Shenandoah, Massachusetts Review, Los Angeles Review, Hayden's Ferry Review, Witness, and VOLT. She teaches creative writing at the University of Virginia. (3/2008)