Cate's Poems

 

Homestand

(Click one of the links below to hear Cate do this reading
and enjoy the text of the poem as you listen.)

 

Applause for the boy, when he’s stolen
home, how sliding in, 
the tines
of his finger-tips brush the plate
in the same fine
furrows
dusking the face of his mother, who
he notices, gets no
applause,
nor the boy for his daily drills, doubling
down—dressing the father, tucking
his chin,
quilted batting, all of his free-swinging
whims—holding out,
in place
on his father’s side of the bed, the boy
hugs the line of his mother’s
spine. Unmanned,
she sighs from the base of her back,
the boy crowds close, his
gangly knees
still pulling their raspberried plates, still
growing—applause
for the boy,
given his position:  a wonder he does not
think, but leans his father’s
twin frame
back. Once settled, the boy breathes
slow with his mother
beside him,
his father’s bedside—he sees them 
beside themselves,
for they are not
able to touch, nor the father to clap—
can’t touch on the laud
they want
for this boy, no applause is enough