Daughters 1900

Five daughters, in the slant light on the porch,

are bickering. The eldest has come home

with new truths she can hardly wait to teach.

She lectures them: the younger daughters search

the sky, elbow each other's ribs, and groan.

Five daughters, in the slant light on the porch

and blue-sprigged dresses, like a stand of birch

saplings whose leaves are going yellow-brown

with new truths. They can hardly wait to teach,

themselves, to be called "Ma'am," to march

high-heeled across the hanging bridge to town.

Five daughters. In the slant light on the porch

Pomp lowers his paper for a while, to watch

the beauties he's begotten with his Ann:

these new truths they can hardly wait to teach.

The eldest sniffs, "A lady doesn't scratch."

The third snorts back, "Knock, knock: nobody home."

The fourth concedes, "Well, maybe not in church . . . "

Five daughters in the slant light on the porch.