Water and Cars


Half of you hides in our daughter
beside the other half of me 

that I didnít understand anyway
before I gave it to her. 

The worms bathe in the rain
while you speak with Mrs. Gonzalez 

about sucking exercises in the living room.
The salt lamp observes the desk 

patiently bearing your laptop 
and breast pump above the carpet. 

Also, your crystals that contain words 
somewhere below their cloudy surfaces. 

If I could understand their alphabet,
Iíd like to read them to our beautiful child.

Anything to ease her long vacation 
on this planet ruled by water and cars.



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Vincent Poturica's writing appears in New England Review, DIAGRAM, Western Humanities Review, Foundry, and Forklift, Ohio. He lives with his wife and daughter in Ukiah, CA, where he teaches at Mendocino College.