My adopted sister Ethel sat opposite me at the dinner table, waiting for the food to arrive in the multicolored bowls Mom had gotten long ago, to cheer Ethel up and encourage her to eat. Ethel was ... [+]
endless,
and full offense--
hackneyed.
you feed it everything and yet
it couldn't print you for all the world, or me
you, with your heart of clear air and
your wide and guileless eyes
that dart away, as do our hands
in fists
because people break what they touch
or break the spell, with words
the poet had better leave alone.