Grace Chia

I

You’re everything I’m not,
which is for the better.
While a seed growing
in my soiled bowl of a hole,
you planted ideas in my head
of how you would come to fruition.
What celestial symbols will you bear?
What numerological values define you?
What planets will announce your arrival 
to this land of lullabies and sandmen? 

II 

Your name means 
yew tree in one language,
God’s gift in another.
You straddle earth and the divine,
rooted for as long as ghosts roam
from the laying of stone to 
the melting of bones.
They say the tree is as eternal
as the breath of an immortal
sighing at the feet of the sublime.
You are angel in the manger,
cherub gift-wrapped 
and ribboned. 

III 

I’ve known you since
you were a squiggle inside me, freestyling.
I’ve loved you since,
tracing your route,
counting minutes till I could meet you,
waiting for you to uncurl
from invertebrate to a mass of tissues
soaking up my DNA,
bridges that bind us.
You and I, 
heart to heart,
dancing on the skins of our drums. 

IV 

You kicked me with hello.
But what was your name?
My name is love.
Hello, daughter, you’re in love. 

V 

You didn’t want to let me go. 
When the waves came and 
you knocked your head on my door,
you stayed for three days indoors
hugging my insides 
nursing through my cord.
I almost fell asleep
giving birth to you,
my strength sapped from holding
you back, keeping you in.
You were in no hurry to drink
the white milked from my red. 

VI 

You wanted to breathe me all in.
That’s how I know
I will forever carry you
till the stars explode,
till earth swallows me whole,
and give you my life, my soul,
always, no question,
in a heartbeat
a billion cells times over.