to evie, who had no say in it

my darling,

if I took you from my hearth it was to keep you safe
and every beat I think I hear
a recitative on how cold and still
I felt / you felt
as you sat on that palace shelf;
I left you unswaddled, unbathed
and caked in birthday vernix, with
no candles to light you to me.

(between us then a concrete wall,
your mama mute, your father gone
and none to ever sing in pathos or in praise
why was she born at all)

evie katherine, evie rachelle, evie jean,
the spring bloom promised and delivered in my vernal dream
by hand, by heave, by tear, by strife,
and just as soon taken
to keep my grief struck from your lullaby.


chalk, cuttle, the slow dissolve of years dried and crumbling
part ashore and part adrift, shards and strands,
some carbonate skeleton lost in depth and breadth and spread thin
reformed each year as some plaster mould dolphin
reformed and just and just as quickly relapsed

and still, today,
outside the grey and the muse of the spectra
the blue that comes through
is so pure unexpected

a single wavelength in a sea no longer with end,
no land in sight – and only the kiss of sky, no cliffs.
I am the water given curve and crest
again my skin is skin
my heart is heart
my bones a part of what holds me together
and I am alone
but I am together

I am made my own mama
I am made my own, mama
and I can rock myself to sleep.