Glucose drip, saline drip,
minutes drip, drip, drip
as you sleep
linked by a long looping line
leading from your small blue vein
to my heart.
You will not entertain the possibility
that you are small
and there are ladders you cannot climb.
So here we sit, waiting
for x-rays to develop.
of unknown origin.
The cut’s edges are clean enough
for surgical glue and butterfly strips.
I can almost smile at this,
because when you were born
I called you the Butterfly King.
Butterfly strips for the Butterfly King.
There will be a faint scar.
It is where the butterfly kissed you,
I will tell you one day.
are not meant to be ridden
This is what it is, then, to be your mother.
Cut open like a watermelon,
exposed flesh waiting
for the knife to slip.