Daughters and Sons

Steadiness was borne

in your lungs,

sighing out pressured

syllables

contorting your ribcage

in-out-in out

until all you are is a jumbled mess

of ligament and bone

every cycle elapsed

rearranges your skeleton.

Freedom was

borne in your eyes,

stretching blue-brown

kaleidoscope into

your secret worlds

pulling me in,

pushing you out,

now forced to become

a real child

again.

Disaster

was borne in your heart

waiting & decaying

for the bomb to set

off, until you are whole

again,

or at least as someone

this broken

and alien can be.