You Killed the Baby
Walking down the hall I saw them there-
my mother sitting in a rocking chair-
my father standing by the bed. His voice
was hard and sharp like chips of flint.
I want to sit inside my mama's arms,
to rest within her warming grasp. and then
to lean into her chest and listen for
the rhythmic beating of her heart that seemed
always to say: you're Good, you're Good, you're Good.
I spread my elbows far apart so she
can easily encircle me, but she
does not reach out to pull me in. Instead,
my father thumps me on the head. It feels
a little like a stone thrown from that Texas
Tower. "No!" my father said, "you stay
away from her. Stay off your mama, boy.
She's got a baby in her tummy now,
and when you make your mama pick you up
it hurts the child inside her. The last time
you did something like this, did you know
you killed the baby? That's right, little Mister,
that's exactly what you did.. You killed
the baby. Yes. You made that baby die."
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