Judith Yamamoto
A SMALL TENT
I take my umbrella
a small ten t in the sand;
I can watch the children against the yellow waves,
the bees over the kelp tracking in a high whine
the war ships are steering that familiar course
in southern waters
at dawn the flying fish see the grey hulls;
even I'm not fooled any more,
I know that the eyes of those corpses
will gleam in the seaweed
and on any dim coast, a thunder of crows–
always the hecklers, lamenting and reminding
now for awhile I sit in my shade;
I can watch the mapmakers drawing new boundaries,
coloring the seas;
listen to these children inventing fathers–
one boy says, mine will be a thorny tree
if the sides of my tent expand
the children will come inside,
their small fingers dragging blankets;
I can dig a firepit,
I can heat the cocoa;
I can watch the veins rising at my knuckles,
those bl ue journeys to the heart
