the dawning of the queen (one for sweet Mayzee Rae)

we stood on the balcony and celebrated; the
smoke crawled through the glass of the
maternity ward.
7 pounds 2 ounces on the
Eve of Halloween, 
with a face stolen from God’s secret stash.
everybody cried
(especially me)
as we celebrated with stolen cigars
we claimed were from Cuba—
friends I wasn’t aware I had showed for

The Dawning of the Queen

and then we watched and loved you every day:
like a well-oiled infant;
a smile that can cause a ten car pile-up,
a laugh that rips the salt out of the toughest
man’s eyes,
leave him sobbing like a little girl.

the doctor cut you out of your crying mother—
she was just a child herself—
but she held my white knuckles
(that are now purple)
and we listened to the medical junkies talk about
LSD and the Beatles—a girl named Lucy and some 

“boat on a river.”

and your silent screams still ring in my ears
like the day you were wrapped in the blood and
guts of your young Mother’s innards

where nothing could have been more enchanting.

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