• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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Baby Blue

Under skin — organ of life,
squirming of segmented flesh,
how bone grows out from spine
and the black sack of nutrients steadies
as foundation, awaiting brown iris under lid,
soft nail sprouting from finger-bed,
the first pulsing heart, a tooth disguised
under flaming red gums, hair bloodied
and matted — a gauze protecting the fontanel.

The foetus is baby-blue plasticine, pulled,
slapped awake from its mothers warm bunker,
moulded to air, to gasp and wail, the sudden
terror of urgent lungs, absence of the organ cave
as routine and order finely balance,
and in your arms the seed of twin leaves
severed from stem — abrupt and chaotic
as the moment of conception —
the life you carried exiting yours.