Child as a Piano
During the ultrasound, it lies there,
dormant, like a landmine inside you.
Later, it erupts – a months-quiet volcano
of its own. Now the constant ticks,
the continuous whirring of me, me,
me, mommy, me. A four-legged
sinister machine in the beginning,
advancing with growth, now it can
multitask – handle scissors before age,
snip your hare/hair carelessly, throw
styrofoam at the dog to feed, or feed
itself, spill water, urine, oil on the floor,
its generous slickiness. This small
machine of easy wear and tear,
easy blithering, breaking, bleeding,
becoming bone-hard, voluntary
but still the hum of mommy, me,
prized possession, precious substance,
jewel, gem, loved, loving learns melting,
waking under warmth.