Gargoyle Poem by Camilla Keenan Koch

With the stickiness of children on my hands
Sunning in a high-fenced courtyard
my open sky hemmed by chattering apartments
that sound as if they ought to be
in Greece
Wondering if I will ever choose
some young lion of my own
to feed and clothe and tell the world to
to chase down the street through his incomplete games
then balance him weightless on my hip
Wearing well his yellow Anorak
and the blonde head of my infancy
and precocious inhumanity
with the vast ignorant curiosity
of a philosopher
or a little brother
Clasping his jammy hands absently around my neck,
and my adjusted spine;
a Gargoyle of trust and persuasion.