a mother stops writing
surrenders descriptions—her final offerings / to the places where hallowed coconut husks cast sandy beaches into moon surfaces / and travelers who warmed cow dung floors are led home by dogs. / she drifted along blue hibiscus-lined streets / a weathered dress kept slipping off her shoulders.
thirty-six hours of labor / head an elongated sentence, arms parenthetical / finally asleep—her baby, a restless canon / his unknown story takes shape. / plants drip heart-shaped leaves onto stone-colored walls / a lit globe spins in the nursery, continents flickering.
she remembers warm beer after a medusa swarm / there was no child then / just the rippling, purple arms of jellyfish rooting for bodies. / the people were safe, naked, electric with adventure/
her baby wakes.