TO GET HERE
POEMS BY WENDY MNOOKIN
BOA EDITIONS
181 PAGES

DAYTIME TV

I'm folding laundry to child abuse
on Oprah, smoothing warm undershirts
as one by one the women describe
what they do to their children, although
the longer I listen I realize it's not what they do

but what they fear they might. Their voices tremble,
they can hardly form their mouths
around the words, and still I match edges,
center and fold, while my daughter does fractions
and stares. How can they?

she asks. This child of mine,
who carries spiders outside
for a new start, does not know the danger
that makes a mother go to her room
and close the door

and lean against it while she turns the lock.
She's never moaned
at the sound of a door clicking shut,
the lock's metal lever falling into place.
She's never loved a door so much.

Back to feature