Five daughters， in the slant¹ light on the porch，

    are bickering². The eldest³ has come home

    with new truths she can hardly wait to teach.

    She lectures them： the younger daughters search

    the sky， elbow each others' ribs⁴， and groan⁵.

    Five daughters， in the slant light on the porch

    and blue-sprigged dresses， like a stand of birch

    saplings whose leaves are going yellow-brown

    with new truths. They can hardly wait to teach，

    themselves， to be called "Ma'am，" to march

    high-heeled across the hanging bridge to town.

    Five daughters. In the slant light on the porch

    Pomp lowers his paper for a while， to watch

    the beauties he's begotten⁶ with his Ann：

    these new truths they can hardly wait to teach.

    The eldest sniffs⁷， "A lady doesn't scratch."

    The third snorts back， "Knock， knock： nobody home."

    The fourth concedes， "Well， maybe not in church. . ."

    Five daughters in the slant light on the porch.

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