Abracadabra—
my downyfaced grandson morphs
in a cloud of hormones—
launched into a new wind
he speaks in tongues
sliding through my questions
gliding around the answers.
A fractured tectonic plate
somewhere in his universe
leaves him poised on a diamond edge
My eyes searchlight steady
not to miss the trick,
the unwrapping, unpeeling
perfect circle of him—
turning a showman’s face to me,
he holds my breath
lifts the silk
leaves me speechless.
— Ilene Millman
Ilene Millman is a member of the US1 poet’s co-op and has published work in U.S. 1 as well as other journals.
