Morning sickness, 2am
My brain is big
like the belly of a flaming phoenix
and I don’t know what I’ve been bearing:
rough beast or a new Messiah,
cactus or heart’s ease,
the same old same old
or a new tomorrow?
I’ve been my whole life carrying it to term
and my mornings are sick
with vomiting up this prebirth.
Its taste is sour in my mouth.
I walk a crooked path
carrying it before me like a baby buggy.
Young women give up their seats for me
in the bus.
I ask no special treatment.
The whole time needs to give birth,
not merely the head of this mucky poet.
You who love me
are forced to humour my strange whims and tastes.
I raid the fridge at midnight
for pickled thoughts
mixed with syrup-sweet hopes.
Forgive my sudden mood swings,
One day soon, perhaps,
I shall be delivered of whatever monster
I have been nurturing all these years.
Then, my purpose no longer unfulfilled,
like the lovely Mayfly
I shall fly upwards into the sun.
Only to fall into the sea
when the wax on my wings melts.
June 13, 2008, 2:10