The Day You Were Born

An M&M with a spastic hair attached,
A blood-filled moon-pie,
Chock-full of DNA,
This is how you began, my child.
You rode into the world
On the shirt-tails
Of your mother's wolf-cries
And deep-sea currents.
Your first static-y communiques
Came galloping to us
Through a small plastic box,
Locomotive wheels, hell-bent on life.
With black wire teeth eating their way
Across white ribbons of paper,
You told us of your desire
To emerge from your salt-brine world,
To shed your gills
And let your little raisin lungs
Fill with sweet air.
Your mother's cow music,
The chanting from her Buddha-belly,
Called you to the surface,
You little sea-monkey.
With your mother's face
Purple as an eggplant,
And tidepools gathering in the sheets,
You peeked out of that crescent.
A bevy of women crowded around
To watch you pop
Like a seed out of a watermelon.
And there you were,
A juicy, fresh seedling,
Bursting with possibility,
A million stories to choose from.

David W. Aronson