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Belly full. A mother’s bellybutton protruding in beauty. In two months, birth. A room, shaded with paint, new furnishings. The crib, colored with the softest bedding, the place where I will sleep, dream, suck my thumb. I’ve become a face, hybrid in features, mother’s nose, father’s eyes, they’ve become me & I am left to grow. They’ve picked blue, the color of a boy, the shade in which identity is named, masculine. At night, while being fed, my mother whispers me secrets, things not even my father knows. She takes my deep breathing as understanding of her words. Such intimacy between two should be what starts life correctly. We rock slowly, both nearly falling asleep inside the rocking chair’s trance. Now, I am terribly two. The age that shocks in behavior, but where I have started showing & becoming & introducing what my behavior shall be. I can run & dance, identify clouds & name everything that flies “birds.” I hear things like “timeouts” & “no, no, no!”— daily. Now, becoming five. Kindergarten, surrounding of other children & obeying another adult. We color & nap & play outside. I wonder if the rest of my life will be this way? For show-&-tell, I bring a favorite picture. My parents laughing brightly with ocean waves playing behind them. This is the picture that will always be with me. The one that when I remember as an adult, will bring me to the same classroom where I’ll wish I were again.
---------------------------------------- www.felinosoriano.com
My chapbook, "Exhibits Require Understanding Open Eyes" available from Trainwreck Press: http://www.ditchpoetry.com/trainwreckpress.htm
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