which makes me an expert
at pissing off adolescents.
My daughter tells me that her younger brother
is “with a girl” at camp. I don’t ask. He’s been
a man since February.
I can’t tell you much about motherhood.
My son almost missed his bris. I failed
to get him ready by his due date.
He waited patiently until doctors came with
scalpels, to rescue him. I was pregnant
with my daughter, when my husband
called. A second plane flew into the world
trade center. I tried to shove my son back
in. It was impossible; my kids are not twins.
You wouldn’t know it. They have a secret
language for dating and drinking
Who’s breasts do battles suck on? My breasts
were the blankets I wrapped around my kids
aortas, when they were afraid of the dark.
How would the mother of all battles comfort her
battles? I wonder
how I protect children, my children
wrapped like a ring
around the heart
of a small child