I've Got An Itch

amy Lipman

All my poems start the same
These days

Baby this
And baby that
And maybe I’ll never.
I don’t even
Have you
And
I’m not your mother
So quit asking if I can see
Anything
That you’re proud of

When I opened my eyes
I saw
That you wouldn’t stop looking at me
I replaced my eyes with matches,
And there’s nothing you’ll strike
But since the sun
Lives in yours,
Mine laid on the floor

You, child, you, cling
I’m a book
And you're too clean for words
But know that you’ll
Need them
When the world revisits
Its words
Left to rot inside of
Young girls
And they do
How they do turn to women