notes to my unborn children

by michael thomas swanberg

but before we get there i want to congratulate all the local poets, who might not still be local but attempt to tip the scales at least once a month, or every two months. its still a very thrilling website to be a part of, even though turtledove, you know who you are, thinks she is too good to post a poem even after i called her and told her she had to. either way, i just wanted to touch base with anyone who still reads this or likes this or writes this. keep up the good work guys.

notes to my unborn children is an open project to anyone who wants to write something to the kids they dont have yet and fear that they will eventually neglect. or perhaps you can write them nice things, however you were raised.

1

What you are now
Holds truth
There is beauty in that form

You, without sex
Quiet as blood
Spinning in a loom
Of your mother
Her body is yours now
Her hands
Her lovers


2

Do not be born.
Leave your mother early
Make it an accident

I will come to her
In bright kitchens
touch her stomach
Kiss the place you grew

wait until she has fallen asleep,
and sneak down the hallway
to sing lullabies
into your empty bedroom
I will name you after all the things
Your mother and I did wrong
the quiet, the fighting

3

I have seen your mother’s death
The one she waters like a plant
In the back of her mind

It is may when I get the call
There are birds outside the window.

I do not drop the phone when they tell me
I ride it to the floor

I can see the earring she lost last month
Underneath the refrigerator
The teapot is boiling on the stove
You are screaming in the yard
“I shot you, I shot you, I shot you”

4

Make my body to ash
Scatter me someplace
That, beautiful years ago
has lost its charm

Give your grand children my jewelry
Tell them you found it in the garden
That it belonged to no one
Kiss them when they loose it
Tell them it was nothing