THE DAINTY MONSTERS
Michael
Ondaatje
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‘Lovely the Country of Peacocks’
My daughter cackling in defiance
voices mystic yells like a snake charmer,
a fulica in the afternoon.
Her buddhist stomach is boasted,
there is an interest in toes.
In rusty actions
she struggles for tender goals:
her mother’s hair,
the crumpled paper.
Her retaliations to matches,
muscles, and hairy dogs
are all degreed.
Looking on
we wear sentimentality like a curse.
Her body bears, inside the changing flesh,
rivers of collected suns,
jungles of force, coloured birds
and laziness.
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