THE DARK QUESTION
When you dream
the dream of babies,
does each limb slumber
in its place? Every breath
Five fingers and five toes. Even the dream catcher
has five strings crossing each other in the light.
The sparrow's beak just so, the raindrop
perfect, and the open mouth of the flea.
The dark question, birth,
what right have I
to bear children
who surely could not be
in the image of God?
Christ opens his mouth all over me. Red
dirt, brown at the back, his mouth
has been filling up. I have no love for him.
The blessed child. The Lord's reflected light.
Dare I be
The mark of the devil
than my hands?
My father and his mother before him. We beget
small thumbs, a lack of arms, and missing fingers. Horror
in the faces of others. Yet, we persist like dandelions
blooming in the sun, our seeds blowing everywhere.
Our perfection varies.