mama; newborn

mother lives tonight—yes, for now she breathes in bed

together we watch the fan blades spin

into the flesh-red, she breathes-in dark and hums

the littler you dare look up n’ dread:

the lesser it takes for ‘em to be goin’ round instead

stillness does not play culprit to this room’s stale pacing

rather a lackluster nothing; the fine in-between

waiting room for death, which blinked only once

when i, hauling to the world a fresh born-again, opened into arms

be gentle! to her i choked with her, be gentle

i call her by her first name—sylvia—and ask 

about madness, how it sits in the bones a-chill

she smiles oh-so big, oh… baby, how it fits into the palm of a hand!

tea-cup rattles on china plates and she is only cupping my daughter’s cheek

again, again, i go, do you not ever wish upon a bone?

nurse spills blood-like in and out, racing to clot i am ever-awake

heart thumps about in that old chest, shaking the baby, baby my baby

so much snow for nothing! what not do i know? incessant she!

well, i suppose, what of love? of poison? of… i say, i blink at her; it’s strange

it’s all silent now!—i’ve done it now!—mother-of-mine sees only to be blind

sylvia breaks sweat on the bed, stretches to sit so i shuffle back

the room tugs at the bone in the nape of my neck, it goes, i know…

mother breathes between sheets and, how to be alive—more breathing

godless we all know someone to pray to, fatherless sky we all play mother to,

our own newborn’s blinking, to us, it being infernal