Something To Thank My Mother For

Something To Thank My Mother For

I was born first.

I was the largest, hanging low and heavy like wet wash.

Her mother was two months dead  and her husband in the service,

   so she rode in her father's truck to the hospital.

Massachusetts in January was dark as the grave.

Her fingers had swollen, she couldn't wear her wedding ring.

My eyes were brown at once, oxydized by hospital air.

So the nurses judged her abandoned, me a half breed

   and brought her coffee and smokes.

As for me -

   I was so round, so satisfied, so wombful,

   I slept and slept.

I never woke for food.

I was already left-handed and dreamy.

My whole first year she had to tickle the bottoms of my feet

  to wake me, crying:

Look at this.  Look.