Boy Afraid

Little boy crying, I want it, mother, want it,

Then plunging face-down on the well-rugged floor,

Muscles tense, cries and screams at destiny,

Refusal, at the God's marvelous frown.

I want it, mother, otherwise the house

Is quiet: seven rooms, each one empty

As the other, with no voice to answer, and no

Cat-like eyes to glare back breeding hate.

Hidden fear, this: for somewhere buried

Is the Phoenix. I want it, mother, want it.

What? the cruel static eye that stares?

Or the welcome voice that will not remind?