My son, asleep, curled into
The faded cotton sheet
I fell in the street
trying to unkink the garden hose
before you were born
Did it hurt?
What part of me
Did you take
Clutched in your fist
Like lunch money
Along the birth canal
Did you resist waking
Then as now
Do you pull me against you
For something we still share
I want you to clean your room. You say
"It's my dust. I collected it.
Don't mess it up with your broom."
You leave for school
I wander in your room
Searching for a sign
A fragment of connective tissue
Among tiny painted fighter planes
On the nuclear ship, U.S.S. Enterprise
On your outgrown desk
Your soccer team runs on the wall
In the sapphire blue ceiling
Airplanes circle
Waiting for a flight plan