Peter J. Harris


Baby Talk

glimpse a child’s blasé rending of dimensions   witness the shape-shifting delight of a toddler shouting to her mother:  ‘mama it’s Mickey Mouse!’   shame on eyes that cannot see cartoon ears sprouting from the grain at wooden interlock of hexagonal cocktail tables in a hotel lobby
savor squeal of 3-year-old granddaughter high in a playground swing & her unstrained dismissal of chronology:
when you were little I used to push you on the swing
aha to the brash logic of her 4-year-old cousin:
think I’m fast, then I know I’m fast
childhood is fragrance not my destination
my see saw made of precision & revelations in the night
my lover’s fetal curl & breathing under cover of urban darkness
mi sueño spiced by lost attempts to make meaning from our baby talk
Mi susurro unfolding
Monk on Mysterioso
Lord have mercy of daddy’s imaginary keynote at
million man march   salsa of tires prowling streets soaked by sudden rain
timbales on the canopy sheltering the midnight hour

“curduroy god” by Peter J. Harris


transcendent prisoner of 7th Day exaltations   ferocious lamentations
circular interpretations promising caramel eternity    blushing above marble clouds at divine slide from liquid collaborator to Implacable Father
demanding champagne & stoic at our sacrifice  wailing  prayer
listen blind baby brother   dance fool   speak  laugh  change
once magic carmelizes

we are haunted forever

Photo & Poem by

Peter J. Harris