THE GALACTOGOGUE
Dance with the Mommy and hear the Mommy
say
What she likes of things and all manner of
things,
And God you like the same things, so dance with
the baby
And hear the baby say.
Remember when all of it was her
milk?
The whole thing turned on her breasts'
milk and this
Slip of a girl in the middle of the night
lifting the baby
To hear him burp,
And you have touched this girl's breasts,
your
Fingers in the purling millrace of stars and
galaxies
Dripping in rings melodious as the little
boy
Laughing in his sleep.
Likewise the night when you woke at a
sound,
The tired girl was asleep her breasts
uncovered
And the infant had risen up, had risen up and
was
Talking to her,
Was leaning up his fingers playing with her
breast...
Until he saw you looking and fell back to her
side
And you understood his melodious
language.
Copyright © 1993 by Kenneth
Tindall
back to the Short Story Page.
The Galactogogue, 1 March 1999