The World Moves Too

fast for a woman
made two. Racing fuel,
the pump spews
beside regular
unleaded. I hold
my breath. Overnight
the petals bloomed.
Quakes crushed
the coast, some
famous face
will die soon, and
senators are set
to snap the lights
out on the nation’s
news to prove
some point about
a woman’s right
to not choose.
But here you are,
three pounds big,
a wanted
cabbage cornered
in the womb.
Just stay put.
Your eyes
can open, your ears
can hear
the horns the
heartbeat the hollow
in the bowl we leave
empty in a field.
Listen, the ticking
will always tock
its way to now,
and now will long
for then. Tomorrow
comes screeching in.
I’ll waddle you
out, and in
twelve months
you’ll toddle sloppy
toward some stray
jagged thing from
which I must
(with all I am)
keep you away.