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
About the Author
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
