DPF / Revard

For weeds more green and baby rabbits, from Poetry Foundation.

from Another Sunday Morning / by Carter Revard, b. 1931

What I walked down to the highway for,
                                   through the summer dawn,
                                            was the Sunday funnies,
                     or so I thought—

DPF / Tufariello

Mothers and daughters.

from Twenty Weeks / by Catherine Tufariello

In every weather,
Wisdom and grace guard you together
And shelter you from harm and storm,
Who now lie heedless, dreamless, warm,
Curled in your dark honeycomb
Asleep, exactly halfway home.

DPF / Logan

Mothers and sons. And, ongoing mentor, friend, teaching us, one by one, to dive into the wreck and to grasp something worth bringing to light.

from The Farm / by William Logan

The kerosene lamp had gone out.
There was a ragged Bible in this dream,
open to Isaiah.

DPF / Mark

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

from The Disasters / by Sabrina Orah Mark

“What are you doing in there, my little shipwreck?” “Commodifying my disasters,” said Beatrice. “That’s nice,” said Walter B. “Will you need some batteries?” “No,” said Beatrice. “Better save the batteries for the children.”

DPF / Plath

More like a GPS than not. Mothers and daughters.

from The Disquieting Muses / by Sylvia Plath

Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born,
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.

DPF / Tate

Sort of like a GPS, only minutely different.

from Conjuring Roethke / by James Tate

I wish you were here.
The calendar is red,
a candle closes
the room.
If this is the life
we are all leaving
it’s half as bad.
Hello again mad turnip.
Let’s tango together
down to the clear
glad river.