Tice is
the tallest three year-old
you have the guts to imagine.
If a squirrel learned
to point and shoot a BB gun-
she walks taller
than that.
Tice
beats her hands
like pigeons drowning.
She beats her friends-
the ego beats itself.
And all the teachers bargain
to not have her around.
And the aunts whisper condemntions to their potatoes,
because 'Ticia is not gentle with her voice.
'Tice is the only kid who laughs at my dumb jokes.
She laughs like a bat
loosed from the attic.
And when she can't have it Her Way. Mi amor.
She flees back to the attic of tantrum.
Get out of that season's way.
Beneath the attic, in the house, I teach
when to breathe,
how to breathe,
from the navel. I have few teachings.
Why shouldn't I?
This is a child who will easily
break her own heart.
And thus she will learn love.
cdzhouse 