2002 T.E. Ballard. All rights reserved.

Offspring; A Local Art Show

Daughter is a photograph,
a hand held on green moss. She waits
this white limb, this ivory lizard
on a gallery wall. There was a woman
I once knew, an artist
who covered her children with leaves,
photographed them naked in mud
and as they grew, her audience complained--
a young penis turned to bark
as people questioned concepts of art.

Is it not the same with us?
My small kitten, my wet love
the one who sprang from these legs
wrapped in the branches
and twigs of my motherwant.

Daughter, you are the shape
of my pocket carried like stone
through the mud of this life,
these are the images I create,
photographs taken
as wild innocence slips by.

2002 T.E. Ballard.  All rights reserved. 

 

Featured Poetry

Why Jonah's Wife Was Never Found
Death, Stone and a Woman Named Virginia Woolf
Milkweed
Communion
Letter in Green
Principles of Bone
The Butcher's Daughter
The Uncertainty of Altars

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