for Nancy Baker
Teacher points at the vase, says vase so
I say vase, point at the vase, think: cantaloupe.
Teacher places my hand on the vase,
looks me in the eye, says vase real slow,
guides my hand across its sheen—says vase, shivers.
Through the window I see peach pits,
so hollow, so alone in the rain,
I almost remember her womb.
Read at Brain Melt opening, June 16, 2012