Adolescence-III By Rita Dove

With Dad gone, Mom and I workedThe dusky rows of tomatoes. As they glowed orange in sunlightAnd rotted in shadow, I tooGrew orange and softer, swelling outStarched cotton slips.The texture of twilight made me think ofLengths of Dotted Swiss. In my roomI wrapped scarred knees in dressesThat once went to big-band dances; I baptized my earlobes with rosewater. Along the window-sill, the lipstick stubsGlittered in their steel shells.Looking out at the rows of clayAnd chicken maure, I dreamed how it would happen:He would meet me by the blue spruce, A canrnation over his heart,saying,"I have come for you, Madam;I have loved you in my dreams."At his touch, the scabs would fall away. Over his shoulder, I see my father coming toward us: He carries his tears in a bowl,And blood hangs in the pine-soaked air.

Rita Dove:She often gives public readings of her poems and intends them to be read aloud.

This poem is the third in a series of three poems about being young that she has written.The Language of Literature. McDougall Littel,