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Child of the sphinx, In your golden eyes A millennium of small slaughters In the gold of the granary, In the warehouse, or in ships at sea; In Egypt of four thousand years ago Parlaying a useful propensity For the taste of rat and roach Into a culture's devotion. This morning, on the outhouse roof, Your paw preens fur, Silk in the sun, Feathering the wind With the ruin of the first kill. At day's end, a lumpy bed; A lightbulb Burning like Guernica. Your body burrows into my blankets; Your head Butts at my flank, And your textures Predict the sun. Your throat Purrs. |
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This poem SPHINX CHILD was first published in Outrigger Volume Four Number Three, May 1980 (ed. Tim Pickford)(Auckland, New Zealand) (page 92). First appeared online when posted on the zenvirus.com site by Hugh Cook: 2005 May 7 Saturday. Copyright © 1980, 2005 Hugh Cook. All rights
reserved.
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All materials on this website can be read for free online. However, note that the website contents are copyright © 1973-2006 Hugh Cook - all rights reserved. For permission to use any of the material on this website contact Hugh Cook.
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