Don't Think
Barefoot, she toddles
White lampshade dress --
She wants a story.
Go ahead.
You know this place will blunt those eyes
Eyes, suns
Don’t think --
That if, if, if
They burned in paler skin
Her seeds would be allowed
To nose their way to light.
It’s still years away yet
She’s young, she will forget
Your flimsy story which
(you feel) stares down –
the procession of teachers –
empty cupboards, empty bookshelves --
the taunts, taunts,
taunts, the fights, the drink.
There’s nothing
You can do
No need for you
To think
Just tell the bloody story
Maybe she’ll grow one
Even three
Before it matters --
That she can only turn them to breath
In the dusty air.
Oh, you’ll go home and hope
Your story will be a hurricane lantern
Yes, I’m sorry about the earthquake --
The smoke of her stories will curl away
Over the smashed glass of yours.
Don't think –
that she will never read, really --
never really write
(beyond the ABCs) –
they're "committed to education" (until the election, anyway).
Don’t think
That her spark will kindle nothing.
Now
She looks up at you.
Smiling, glowing
In her lampshade dress.
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I'm having a bit of trouble balancing between too-literal and so-metaphorical-it's-incomprehensible. If you're reviewing, can you please (kind of) spell out what you think this poem is about, so I can see if I'm getting my point across clearly. That would really help me! Thanks!
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