Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory






Kelley White




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The sun laughs with a babyís face
and breathes back the fire from Nagasaki,
look, so fast, the buildings restore
and people called back from the oily shadows;
the sunbabe claps, and Hiroshima
is standing, whole, school children
run back to class and in Europe on another night
the moonchild smiles glass
back into panes and families
back away from the noisy train stations
unpack their backs, sit a moment, still, back home




Bad Mom


I was going to do it all perfectly: no chocolate milk
in the babyís bottle, no glow in the dark chips or
candy before breakfast (ok...someone once said
Ďthree squaresí a day and I had no idea what they were
talking about) but I didnít want to be all the Bad
Moms on the post office wall (and as a pediatrician it
is pretty embarrassing when a patientís family spots
my child screaming in the supermarket and my cart is
filled with soda and chips and absolutely no real
food) Iím guilty on all counts, soda all day, Nintendo
Festival all Night, and (this one I really do regret,)
breaking promises to a child. I try. I put the Easter
decorations out the Tuesday after this year, I
published poems (no less) about my kids; and when we
forgot F.B. once I had him sent Express Mail ( I wrote
a poem about that too,) and please believe itís
painful when the school nurse calls and I canít leave
a waiting room of kids less sick than mine. . .(who I
sent to school anyway...)




©2005 by Kelley White


A New Hampshire native, Kelley White studied at Dartmouth College and Harvard Medical School and has been a pediatrician in inner-city Philadelphia for more than twenty years. Her poems have been widely published over the past five years, including several book collections and chapbooks, and have appeared in numerous journals, including Exquisite Corpse, Nimrod, Poet Lore, Rattle, and the Journal of the American Medical Association.


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