Ioanna Warwick, Abalone Moon

The Dead Mole

I saw you by the roadside, dead--
your white, oversized
bulldozer hands
curved in the shape of their toil--

Brother, how did I know you

when I was still a child?

You had no face, only blackness;
until ants carried you away,
piece by clean piece, you would lie
even more secret in death--

tender velvet I feared to touch,

in child's terror that death

would enter my hand--
the softness would be endless.

Teacher, how did you know
I had to touch or live blind--