patricia gangas
patricia gangas


My child of the water, brought forth in the secret billows of desire, spilling your thin red cries over the boundaries of my untraveled imagination… I have come to love Your body, your eyes, You, Your dream-mother’s dream

O, little pumpkin, My sparrow of a child, Nine months you sailed in my belly-boat, clasped in that long swell, gathering to yourself in the blackening waves horizons of bones and soul-. I rejoiced in that rooting, renewing your life daily, folding its time like some long hidden laundry; but I knew you and you were mine.

Darling, in the midst of October, that dying month, the month of leaves, you burst forth soft as a velvet eucharist washed in God’s gladness, and joy, oh joy, sprouted everywhere.

Today, outside In the half-asleep meadows Something grows green, and I hold you wrapped in my arms like a pulsating puppy not knowing who you are-or why.

O, funny fish, Swimming through every part of me, sail your own harbors, launch your own dreams, fly to the sun, one day you will not be mine anymore.