Mitts

•

Shaniyah’s baby fist folded in my open palm,
Genet’s hand traced, given a face and wattle gobble,
pinned up for fall with the sassafras leaf, right thumbed,
left thumbed, two thumbed vein, gingko and oak
leaf frostbitten to ghost essence lace, so like a feather,
a fish scale, kite, pen, penne, pencil, plumb, plume

Sylvania, and what is Sylvia to me? Sir Sylvan Van Gobbes?
A knuckle bone thrown, and her heart, Shaniyah’s heart
skin pink pumped and baby eye bright, all lashes long
and sweet tongued breathed she on my good ear whisper
and kissed, that red rubber horn, that turkey gullet, clown
nose, ball, one small fist beating upstream, warm, good night.