Let me had been
the star watching that night
the rain battering the building
like a child yelling More! More! Again!
or the moth in the corner of
the room like the best shadow,
as my parents discussed the idea
of me, child number two.
Maybe they held hands
tight as a mast
trying to make the grip permanent.
Was their talk of money?
Pluses and minuses in a column–
her at home stretching change
him in his black and blue truck
driver gear unloading petals,
or was it like Edison’s first light
when the air seared
and the lips curved?
Let me had been perched
on the wall
before their heart was
fully-formed for me.
I would’ve said take heed–
you’re making another vow with love
she’ll be born with crooked legs,
wait they’ll be days she’ll feel like
a weed, not a dandelion.