I own a pear
and two pecans
enough grass
to stuff three pillows
a ceiling
that weeps on my face in bed
plenty of nails
but no paintings
My mother
blames herself for this
Visiting us she frets
that my family will go hungry
How can I tell her
we no longer worry
whether we are happy
or unhappy
We have neither too much
nor too little
nails to hang our clothes on
when we tire of wearing them
the costless smell of grass
while we sleep
and when my son cries
and refuses to eat
I produce two pecans and a pear
and juggle for him
I am not very good
but he claps delightedly
Even mother
has to hold her breath
at the pecans
passing swiftly hand to hand
and the pear
weightless as a sun in mid-air
Robert Hill Long is the director of the North Carolina Writers' Network.