A Tribute to L. Cohen

Now Mom takes your hand 
and she leads you to the grassland 
She is wearing a hat and sneakers 
from teenie-weenie her favourite 
And the sun pours down like honey 
on our lady who loves winnie the pooh
And she shows you where to look 
among the garbage and the flowers 
There are kites in the sky
and daisies having grown since July
There are children in the morning 
They are running out for life 
and they will run that way forever 
While Mom holds the thread
and you want to fly away from her 
and you want to travel blind 
You know that you can trust her 
for she's touched your perfect body with her milk and blood

   by  Imyorphan Zen

Morning Hysteria

when I shouted to her
as a desperate father:
DON'T TOUCH IT!
My daughter pounted her lips
and burst into tears--
tears like falling raindrops,

My exploding voice scared her
fingers out of the little rosy plastic potty
she was sitting on and shitting

I dashed into the kitchen
and grabbed her hand
it was late--
her finger tips had already got it

Be your dady's good girl
Don't play with your poo
It's dirty and gross, my wife said
trying to talk sense
to her while preparing breakfast

I felt as if I had wronged her
as she was sobbing in her shaky body
she was only 11-month old
too young to tell
poo from toy

I shouldn't have shouted. I said
in an eased voice, and then
cleaned her and washed her hands
I gave the potty a glimpse--
her poo was innocent and healthy

I couldn't ask for more
after days of her indigestion