The Paris Review

Three Poems by Sheri Benning

OF

the baby, name lost. 1906. Spring born,
almond and blackthorn in bloom. Meadowsweet,
chickweed, petals of milk on her lips.

Spider-silk saliva from mouth to crab apple fists,
on Mother’s lap, the train from Kiev to Minsk
after the last harvest in Tiegenort.

Teething, feverish, pinpricked cheeks, Mother sings
Kniereiter to distract
bouncing, bouncing baby.

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