WHALE BABY

Maybe, I will be brave and you will start growing in me,and all I can picturefrom an old picture book about babies. It is so surreal,the thought of a great cage of ribs, a huge round head,fin-hands, tail-toes, all pushing and denting my surfaceto finally, brutally break out, on blood and water, to be.Maybe, you will grow from a test tube or a glass dish,make the first few multiplications, bubbles into bubbles,until you are slid into me, or her, whoever she may be,then you grow underwater, but with that first taste of air.You could come from either or both of us, frog baby,and you will learn one day how hard we fought for you.Maybe, you will already be growing, in the city streets,or a garden of lavender, and in time, you and I will meet.Child of my partner, or from another timeline and place,in a moment our paths will cross, and be forever changedand I will see you grow, bird child – so much have youknown and seen that I haven’t, and I will listen and love.And maybe, you will never be person or beast or being,but quietly scattered and glowing, in all my creations,my walks by the river, my poems and recipes for muffins.Maybe the planet will be my baby, and I could rock itas best I can, rock any lovers and friends, rock myself,love all the cycles and quirks of my body, still growing.