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Louise Marie DelSanto

He Wept For His Father

He wept for his father
His father who implored
him to not test life, to not
seek treasures unknown

But his son wanted more
and spent his long days
slashing the darkened skies
in conquest of a golden sun

But the son was like a god
opening his mouth to
warm the coldness of the earth

And his father did not bless
the Summers or Winters
of his son with the light
of his departure

The father turned his head

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October Silk

I liked the rice candy
at the Chinese market
at University Heights
where the Chinese lady
with the blue-black bangs
wrapped Almond cookies
in cellophane packets

where Pork Fried Rice
came in square containers
with no.3 choice of chow mein,
as people lined up out the door
and into the street

Four lanes of heavy bags
of Jasmine rice and Plum paste
of Green tea and rice cakes
and I stumble into the aisle

You like cookies? the Chinese man

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Underlined

My mother, that once
wrapped Christmas gifts
and candy for all of us
tells me about how money
is scarce.

No more
fancy ribbon curling, handwritten
notes, loving sentiment. Her
hands smooth and soft, mastering
the task into the early morning
hours while my father would
comment about her lack of sleep
because of us.

My mother would attach
little notes, her writing round
and curvy, underlining love and
kisses. Months of wrapping and
placing gifts for each child. The

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My African Sister

My sister is an African nun
that sits below grass houses
and rocks babies
until the sun goes down.

She pounds grain
into a fine powder and
shoos the flies away
from the faces of children.
She never puts her head
down to rest.

My sister wraps the babies
tight within the confines
of cobalt swathing,
and occasionally she spits
out the poisons she
inhales.

The children surround

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