Bewitched Playground

Each could picture probably
with great care his brother drawing   
the corded string of a watered silk bag
and mumbling to Basho above the keepsake   
pay your respects to mother's white hair   
now your eyebrows look a little white too
but all have turned instead to watch this child   
a girl my daughter Simone
an astute migrant
skimming the stream of days
toted wherever she wants
to eat the dirt of inattentive towns   
to arm wrestle as with
the blind & steal a stoic
shipping him home—
all have turned & run to her because   
she has a spider on her neck she has   
seen herself
though blindfolded by a cloud
the sun is a yellowjacket
drowning in a cup of coffee she carries   
a spider in her hair
blond & blonder dear river.

David Rivard, “Bewitched Playground” from Bewitched Playground. Copyright © 2000 by David Rivard. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minnesota, www.graywolfpress.org.
Source: Bewitched Playground (Graywolf Press, 2000)
More Poems by David Rivard