Some Poems by Stephanie Swales Rowing My writer’s hands remember when A furious obedience Sharpened the pencils they held, poised, As if I knelt in a canoe, In front, and had to help guide us Through class four rapids, gracefully. My father yells, “Draw left! Draw! Draw!” And I draw, but not enough, and So we are stuck between two rocks And it is I who must get out And steer him back to the current While he says, “See, you should have drawn.” When we emerged into the calm, Cattails stippled the lake. I marked the water with my oar, Remembering what he taught me. Water swirled around the oar And propelled me forward. Letter To A Sister Today, my red thoughts on Stretched canvas bought in bulk. My t-shirt sacrificed its black By accepting new wounds. The wallpaper in your kitchen Is adorned with crisp pears, And your blouse is painted With apricots and spit. My brush has never known The colors of apricots or milk. I still haven’t worn that cotton dress You gave me—the one that looks Like I should be running through fields While pressing a hand down on A flowered straw hat and smiling With sunburned lips—but I thought I would wear it in self-portrait number 28.
	Stephanie Swales holds a B.A. in Psychology from Bryn Mawr College, and is currently in her second year of graduate school at Duquesne University, working toward her PhD in Clinical Psychology.  She has two cats and pretty hair.  Check out her MySpace page at http://www.myspace.com/stephooga.
		Summer 2006 Issue