A Gift From El Niño
Rebecca Kerr

momotaro washed up
orange sweet

walked through the muddy catfish pond, hail-beaten

knocked on my screen door

I helped him towel off
and kept him secret
from unsympathetic hounds

I find I cannot keep
the smell of peaches
off my hands.

 


Rebecca Kerr began to write obsessively when she was fourteen. Her mentor drilled concision, precision, and the power of a good rewrite, and passed on a love for Faulkner, Joyce, and Virginia Wolfe. In college, she studied Ancient Languages, which turned her into a bit of a grammar Godzilla. She likes to travel light, and to find that people are people, no matter where you go. Her stories and poems are infected with the histories, languages, and folk tales of the people and places she loves best. These days she spends her non-writing hours chasing her kids and teaching them to write. And rewrite.