1. lush field of shadows, static hush and radial itch, primordial 2. goo of the sonogram’s wand gliding across my belly 3. my daughter blooming into focus, feathered 4. and fluttering across the stormy screen, the way it rained 5. so hard one night in April driving home from the café in Queens 6. where we’d eaten sweet tamales I thought we might drown 7. in the flooded streets but we didn’t and I want to say 8. that was the night she was conceived: husk and sugar, 9. an apartment filled with music, hiss of damp clothes 10. drying on the radiator, a prayer made with a record’s broken needle 11. to become beaming and undone.
Copyright © 2018 by Kendra DeColo. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 5, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.