Christmas Card
I was born
with the umbilical cord
wrapped around my neck,
kicking and pissing
and red. My father
laughed and my mother
cried and the doctors
snip snip snipped.
And you were creating
new geographies of
jointless limbs, red
pins and strings
on a map of the
United States
where each city is
a character.
You were speaking
a new body language,
useless like falling snow
that melts as it touches
the pavement,
and you were
dancing physical metaphors,
emotional synesthesia.
You spoke nonsense with
conviction and hated
us for not understanding
you.
I stayed up all night
to watch the snow fall,
flakes spinning under
streetlights like
constellations framed
in the lenses of telescopes.
I have a hunch.
I think you
were also born
with an umbilical
cord around
your neck
because you were
kicking and pissing
and laughing
and crying,
because I don’t
think
people like us
ever lose
that first sensation.
