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© 2013 Grace Cavalieri

book:  Migrations Helpmates

Migrations, 1995
Vision Library Publications


I remember the train ride with the blind lady
where we each found out something about ourselves. 
She asked me what beautiful means and if she 
				looked that way. 
I told her about the child who died in my arms 
with an article stuck in her throat.
				It was the word "I"
I told her about the baby who disappeared from the back
seat of the car where she had been playing-
When I picked her up I couldn't wipe the dirt from her face.
I told about the twins who were borrowed and how I feared
the new owners would take them and keep them in playpens
without their favorite snacks.

Where do the babies go when they grow? 
Like trains out of the tracks they come 
but where do they go? 
She replied that at my age why did it matter. 
She asked how people know what beautiful means.
			I told her that because of pain 
in losing my children my eyebrows grew together forming a beard. 
She said if she didn't see it, it didn't happen 
and to consider it all a passing fancy.