Wrapped like a present with a red bow
on a naked head or tied into tiny tennis shoes,
a lovely bundle in receiving blanket of pink,
yellow or soft blue. A gift one thought of
fleshy fists and long-lashed sighs, pouts
and sweet soft screams. A single character
emerges day by day, pokes a head up as from
a turtle's shell, strikes an elbow out as if
to pierce the sac again. By night the chasm
widens, oblivion relaxes the grip; separateness
persists by weeks and years; clasped hands
pried open, palms pushed flat.

CC 2007 Sharon Mollerus