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Do not ask now, little one
Don't stare your eyes into the sun
Don't wonder why the whispers call
through every room and down the hall
and if they hint it, smile and run.
Run and run now, little sis.
I would not wish it on my kin
to know the word porneia or
to know that daddies sometimes bore
when mommies age and nag and grin.
Let it please you, sweet my child
that ignorance (and cake) are bliss
I'll cut you some and we will dance
and don't pay them another glance.
Pretend as if they flirt and kiss.
I do not know, I cannot say
But let us look the other way
as eggshells polish up our floor
with Papa's suitcase by the door.
Tomorrow we'll forget today.
And when our childhood lets go
our thoats--when we can gasp and grow--
we'll not forget the muffled shout
or how mum's soul fell round about
or all the things we do not know.
We'll go and have a baker's shop
a rolling pin, a puffy top
I'll bake until my hands are warm
for sweet is good and does no harm
and darling, we must never stop.
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