PARENTHOOD
(part #3 of the "Us vs Mother Earth" poem trilogy.) Note to my child: Decades from my adolescence, and days before yours, I held your hand in a waiting room. Do you remember? We sat alone, bar one other. An elderly woman; who sagged at my side, Skin like fertile soil, raked with topography map lines that "x" marked The spots on her tatty corset. An odd thing to wear, But I knew better than to chastise the craftsmanship of your grandparents. Silent was she, Gazing at the cork noticeboard And I'd be wrong to say "I didn't hold my breath" When her vitrified eyes fell To the wayward magazine cutouts pinned in the corners flaunting glamourous models lying on the red carpeted steps of concert halls. To my child: I remember laughing soft gasping breaths as you traced the felt of your seat. I realised all in one revolution of the clock by the waiting room door how new you must've felt to the carpet and ceiling how all you knew about the world be...
