Canto CVII

The midwife’s words spin round inside my head
like scrawled petitions within a prayer wheel.
“Don’t worry, the baby will take what it needs.”

No matter how much nausea you feel,
nor how the winter winds snick through your layers,
nor all those Metro toting, suited males

that won’t spare you a seat during rush hour—
there is a part of both of us that grows
within the warmest depths, barely aware

of all the things this seething city throws
into our rugged, ever narrowing paths.
Nor when our tripwire temperaments explode

into nightly operas of sweary wrath
that puff out just as quick as they arrive,
as long as our baby can hold its breath

it’s guaranteed a chilled out, easy life.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 29, 2012 @ 23:55:24

    All this going on in the outside world.
    I would give up my seat to a women with two heart beats, but then I have a sense of empathy.


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