the child

just talking out loud.

When born you laid motionless as a gardenia, showy-fragrant with  a 10 fingered flower

in the bluegrass. Yes I counted as you hoped I wouldn't notice the brown specks of hair

like the thick scar keloid on the wind of the pink skull.Between heven and hell, keep forever

this secret: the bassinet, kept cudgel to the edge of the glass, you spoke to me that morning.

Yeah you spoke, I heard you wording the yellow-brown bitter of myrrh and laudanum,

nowhere, unbeknownst to me, on the silver card of genealogy.

 

Seeing your child born is so unlike the partridge, often hunted, in the field of berries. You

risk being run over, so you set out on the city of friends with sodas, a thin jacket in the dead of winter

but few other snacks, yet a radioactive spiel with only three small minutes left on the

Trac-phone and a tiny smile as far as the eyes can see and the textural, close reading

of the letters that might spell your new name.

 

I dont cry but there were lines on my cheek in the body talcum and a damp earhole

watching as a little finger traced celestrial faces as axioms to the otherwise Fallop

of conception and desire.

 

That you can come forth from a cool night of warm beer, in the back seat of an old car

with a radio with stations the circled dial could hardly bring in;

 

what an ice-dance miracle childbirth is.

Reviews

[writing mojo]

You're awesome, truly amazing the way you weave it all together with such anvils blunt images, when struck perfect echo a sereneness only the Michelangelo's and Divinity of da Vinci of this world possess.. such an attuned frequency you bring from dreams, making the unbelievable believable with a expert penmanship breaking the barriers of what human as spirit invented from enough time to spare...amazing stuff

[Emily B]

truly a miracle