Idiolexicon: 2/9/2007


Matt Mason

Hand and Blue Prints
after James Doyle

In the months
inside your mother,
she was filling you
like balloons inflate
and tie into shapes,

your mother’s asthma
slipping barely a sip
of air
at a time.
She fills you

now from her puzzled breasts,
her suddenly boobs,
as you inflate
and deflate
daily, boob to diaper,

boob to diaper,
just enough
catching hold
on the banks
of your cheeks,

enough to hold
us watching you,
our hands shaken awake
with fears of each hot
gust coming

to sweep you,
quicker
than our fingers:
up, up,
away


Matt's new book, Things We Don't Know We Don't Know, is available from Backwaters Press.

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