I have been working on this poem for a few months. It’s probably not finished. It takes a lot to say that a poem is done, and walk away from it.

This poem is about Boodi, my son.

The way that the media and commenters have framed the murders of Elisa and Martin Lutz made me want to finish it, and to put it out there, to shift the narrative in my own tiny way, to say that my child is not a burden,despite what so many commenters on articles in the last few days would have him to be, to say that I have it from a source that I trust that the mother of Elisa and Martin didn’t see them as burdens, either, that they were so much more than their disability.

Rest in peace, beloved babies, and your Mama too.

 

was it womb

 

            that made you mysterious?

 

did creamy white vernix fix for you the

 

                cocoon

 

by which you would measure your days

 

                                in the light?

 

            invisible now, transparent shield,

 

like the quiet shift

 

            of amniotic ocean

fluids

 

       that surrounded you,

 

when we were separated

 

  by my Mother-skin,

outside,

 

                                touch

 

             {insidetouch}

       

 

were there seashells there

 

                 in that world of faraway

 

                    echoes,

 

         in the flex

 

of umbilical cord, which

 

     connected us,

 

as I made you

 

      and you made me,

 

                               more mother

 

by every day that you grew,

 

upside-down

 

as far as these things

 

are supposed to go,

 

                       but right way up,

 

(was it my heart, that shell

 

               that you rested your tiny ear against?)

 

     your brain,

 

                   sending out

 

                  unfurling shoots

 

of connections,

 

planting the seeds

 

of the later that would be you,

 

                                         listened, heard

 

         the unsteady murmur-beat of

 

                the blood in my heart

 

                                                    and made a code, with eyes

 

closed.

 

you can’t be lost

 

when you’ve never been found,

 

when you haven’t yet learned how to kiss

 

with your mouth closed.