Summer 1993 • Vol. XV No. 3 Poetry |

Who Knows

where his tumor came from? My husband wants to bury it in the food we eat: wine or no wine, what does it drink? The mysterious X and Y of coupling and conception swelled their way to pregnancies of headache and nausea, his CAT scan, my ultrasound, the diagnoses. Can we trust meditation and massage, the surgeon's knife, the itch and burn of stitches, or the work of scars? Oh the product of it all--- the first in a jar left behind for viewing, the other we took home in blue clothes. And what is it that takes hold in the baby's dream and brings him back, the long siren cry of a baby fighting sleep? Lower and lower he wails, falling into dark, a rondo slowing only to rise. What will satisfy the little master? He pulls at the unlikely breast, bluish drops gleaming in his mouth, slack now; finished in the crook of my arm, the head lolls. Nothing else can get milk out, not my furious pumping; the helpless boob makes a poor ounce. But how the baby fattens, little pearthighs and such knees,

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Family Romance

By Tory Dent

where his tumor came from? My husband wants to bury it in the food we eat: wine or no wine, what does it drink? The mysterious X and Y of […]

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