by Brandon McQuade

I dream in the bed you were conceived
of the barn swallows outside our door
their precarious nest-cup hanging from the corner
a handful of mud and sticks in the beams.

Inside, eggs are hatching
the chicks are finding themselves
their eyes and legs coming down to earth
like the post-coital search for clothes and towel.

I realize, with my ear against her navel
listening to your mother like the mouth of a seashell
that the moment I cut the umbilical cord
my hands are forever responsible for your separation—

your hand and mouth will reach for your mother’s breast
as the fledgling foot escapes the nest.

About octoberprojectmusic

Julie Flanders Marina Belica Emil Adler
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s