| Hand and Blue Prints after James Doyle In the months inside your mother, she was filling you like balloons inflate and tie into shapes, your mother’s asthma slipping barely a sip of air at a time. She fills you now from her puzzled breasts, her suddenly boobs, as you inflate and deflate daily, boob to diaper, boob to diaper, just enough catching hold on the banks of your cheeks, enough to hold us watching you, our hands shaken awake with fears of each hot gust coming to sweep you, quicker than our fingers: up, up, away |
Matt's new book, Things We Don't Know We Don't Know, is available from Backwaters Press.