Poem
Yusef Komunyakaa
Avarice
Avarice
Avarice
At six, she chewed offThe seven porcelain buttons
From her sister’s christening gown
& hid them in a Prince Albert can
On a sill crisscrossing the house
In the spidery crawlspace.
She’d weigh a peach in her hands
Till it rotted. At sixteen,
She gazed at her little brother’s
Junebugs pinned to a sheet of cork,
Assaying their glimmer, till she
Buried them beneath a fig tree’s wide,
Green skirt. Now, twenty-six,
Locked in the beauty of her bones,
She counts eight engagement rings
At least twelve times each day.
© 1999, Yusef Komunyakaa
From: Poetry, Vol. 175, No. 1, October/November
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
From: Poetry, Vol. 175, No. 1, October/November
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
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Poems of Yusef Komunyakaa
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Avarice
At six, she chewed offThe seven porcelain buttons
From her sister’s christening gown
& hid them in a Prince Albert can
On a sill crisscrossing the house
In the spidery crawlspace.
She’d weigh a peach in her hands
Till it rotted. At sixteen,
She gazed at her little brother’s
Junebugs pinned to a sheet of cork,
Assaying their glimmer, till she
Buried them beneath a fig tree’s wide,
Green skirt. Now, twenty-six,
Locked in the beauty of her bones,
She counts eight engagement rings
At least twelve times each day.
From: Poetry, Vol. 175, No. 1, October/November
Avarice
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