More By This Poet
No one was faster
than my father on the football field.
No one could keep him
from crossing the line. Then
touching down again.
Coaches were watching the way he moved,
his easy stride, his long arms reaching
up, snatching the ball from its soft pockets
My mother has a gap between
her two front teeth. So does Daddy Gunnar.
Each child in this family has the same space
Our baby brother, Roman, was born pale as dust.
His soft brown curls and eyelashes stop
people on the street.