Ariel Gordon

Eight months: the eldest, after...



You turn changeling even before you are born
tugging me into midnight lands where I wear out slippers
two-stepping down the hall in the dark of this body
to empty a bladder hardly big enough for a princess' pea

When I return to bed touching the mounds of mattress
pillows and limbs my careful buttressing of your burrow in me
our old soldier wakes the night closing at my heels
and opens the hoary hill of his arms opens them wide