For Son of Slam 3, round 4. About the day my son was born....
|When finally the doctors sigh,|
speaking masked amongst themselves,
and cut you
out of me, I am but a writhing animal,
drugged and brazen-blind by dazzling lights.
Then there are pillows, and silence,
and you are sleeping on my chest
and suddenly I have a star, and the moon,
and everything else unceasingly celestial…
my view so clear I memorize the shape
of every constellation.