When pheromones, ignited by the promise
in her come-and-get-it smile, our kinetic skin,
and my hunger, sing to our son of how he got here
and why it all started, he finds a way to prove
umbilical cords are longer than desire.
He cries I just want you, and everything planned
or selfish and hard, in her, melts and is put on hold.
Something in the ether, in the dark or in our eyes
warns my mini me that another hymn could be made
in this moment. He remembers he does not share,
wedges his head into our groove, almost reprising
his birth. Like a wrestler needing to break a figure-four
leg lock or spill the Milk and Water Embrace,
he forces a submission, but we are patient and wait.
Copyright © 2023 by Frank X Walker. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 23, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.