HOMESICKHer mother misusing the word elegaic;
her father calling himself stupid-
She runs her tongue over her teeth,
thinks: anchorite, cenobite, bite down-
Corn on the cob, pork loin, tri-tip roast, fish, never.
Bear baiting, she says to no one in particular,
Bear, bare, she could not bare to-she was one of, and her sister beside,
They used dogs.
Winstons held beneath the table, smoke blown to the side.
Someone slips on the mossy bricks. Someone laughs.
Way back then, when we used to fight,
Dessert. Desert. Be certain.
Copyright 2000, Amy Schroeder
Amy Schroeder lives in St. Louis, MO, where she is an MFA candidate
at Washington University. She was born in California. This is her first
Switched-on Gutenberg/Vol. 4, No. 2