Poetry

Pascale Petit: Three Poems

Musician-Wren My mother, who today is just a coat hung on the line—   let me be a musician-wren and nest in your pocket   to sing you these fluted notes straight from the forest’s throat. _______________________________ Mama Amazonica 1   Picture my mother as a baby, afloat on a waterlily leaf,   a nametag round her wrist— Victoria amazonica.   There are rapids ahead the doctors call “mania”.   For now, all is quiet— she’s on a deep sleep cure,   a sloth clings to the cecropia tree, a jaguar sniffs the bank.   My mother on her green…

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