Tuesday poem #148 : Bronwen Tate : Six Small Poems

I found a sprig of thyme
lodged back in the corner
of your mouth, gummed
            and pungent,
hazards everywhere you crawl.


***

Macaw, he chirps
to resonate the banjo.
Jams the keys, bites the jam spoon
                Soon flips
and claws when he’s the smallest spoon.


***

Clapped delighted hands
when he saw the carrousel,
rode the retriever, caroused.
            Parasol or varnish.
Doubt the sound. Intention mulls it.


***

Angry baby wants
the onion I’m peeling,
says “apple,” reaches.
        Each names
an object round as moons.


***

Two years old,
he thinks mirrors
are pictures
        face flickers
to grimace.

***

Watching baby bathe,
bruised lip
from his hard crown.
         Lean down,
small palm along my cheek
repeating “gentle,”
hurts a little.

Bronwen Tate is the author of the chapbooks Souvenirs (Dusie 2007), Like the Native Tongue the Vanquished (Cannibal Books 2008), Scaffolding (Dusie 2009), if a thermometer (dancing girl press 2011), and the loss letters (Dusie 2011). She received an MFA in Literary Arts (Poetry) from Brown University in 2006 and a PhD in Comparative Literature from Stanford University in 2014. She has taught courses in literature, aesthetics, creative writing, and composition at Brown University, Borough of Manhattan Community College, and Stanford University, where she is currently a lecturer and fellow in the Thinking Matters Program.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan