Sonnet
I’m reparenting myself
through reading. Books
are my mothers. My mother
is the one who made me love
books. She said, No emotional
contact except when we weep
over psalms. Except when I
weep, she said. I would watch
her weep saying to myself,
what a deep feeler. Getting lost
in the e’s. In the night I’d dream
of eels swishing. In the morning
I’d tell her. She’d turn
away. That is literature.
—Sarah Rosenthal
Sarah Rosenthal's poetry has appeared recently or is
forthcoming in Fence, 26, and Poetry Salzburg Review. Her interviews with Bay Area writers have appeared in
Denver Quarterly, Jacket, and Rain Taxi.
Originally published in the March/April
2006 issue of Boston Review |