on a plastic bench
from left to right
there’s him and you, then me

his head aches
because of too much liquor
it’s a fault of self control
his pulsing temples
heavy eyelids

your feet ache
you danced too much
you always dance too much
with the wrong shoes on
toes crushing each other

my face hurts
you said I smiled too much
at strangers whose names I don’t remember
strangers at the party
on the street
on this train

the electric hum sings us to sleep
gently gently
feel the rock of the car
softly softly
we’re babies in a metal bassinette

and like a mother kisses her baby
I want to kiss you
on your forehead
and hold your hand
rest that sleepy head on my shoulder
I’ll take you home
and tuck you in
leave water by your bedside

I think he wants to kiss me
not like a mother and a baby
not like a friend
but with soft lips
and warm togues
hand in hair

I’d let him kiss me
but not now
it’s our stop and i’ve got to make sure you get to bed safely
don’t slip on the pavement
remember to wash your face

it’s okay
he’s got my number
but he won’t want to kiss me in the morning
with the sun up and the birds chirping
when there’s coffee to buy and newspapers to read

I am letting this slip away
I’m fine
this isn’t his stop
we can’t transfer here

Some squawking and stacatto squeeling a retched
Cry and there you are.
Small bundle covered in a heated bassinette.
The race is on.

One more sent down from central casting.
Two eyes one nose. Two ears two hands and feet. If all is a go.
Make your. Mark son.

Girl interrupted.
Blue as a berry. 6 weeks early.
Premature delivery
Could not be more girly.

My son. My daughter

Two more limbs on the tree.

Up the beanstalk you will climb



To see what you can see.

~


for years innumerable
  this generational mystery persisted
     even when the heat radiated down
          and not a shadow would pass

                 the slightest rumbles

not the rumbles of a drifting shelf
    or the slipping of a plate far away
         but something similarly natural
                 and soothing

                  cozy and nestled in a cradle
                   kits slept against grey skin
                   edges softened and worn
                   offering the perfect bassinette
                   to another family of foxes

a strong wind tipped a tree
     crumbling mountain found a canyon below
          the snows came and ice stretched deep
                 separating basalt and sedimentary
                      I felt myself falling apart

It was after this harshest of winters
     I began to notice different sounds...

the constant steady clicking
       of a raven cracking filberts
             upon my exposed bones

the trickling of a nearby stream
   carrying away pieces of my body
        rolling them smooth
               sending them to lands
                    I would never see
            
and the foxes

each early spring and late summer
      they would return to my womb
               bring forth new life
                     from the belly of a stone

I have lost count….
     how many babies have I held
              how many soft toes have explored my veins
                    how many light yips from the depths
                             have lulled me to sleep
                                          when strong winds blow
                                                 and the trees begin to lean    /

The moon woke me up with a sideways grin
In my bassinette, in my hollowed home
I used my foot to scratch my chin
I ruffled and preened, as I lacked a comb

Brother has gone to find me dreaming
Sister sees me restlessly sleeping
Father is a sun whose face is now beaming
Mother can be found behind me, weeping

Wings are for my stamina
Beak is for my bite
Bone becomes shear lamina
Now I can all but take flight.