Turning Tables

(To Mama and Papa.)

I remember:    my face
In the seabed
Of both your stomachs.

You, together, carrying me,
When I was a child,
With the surging tide of

Your arms.
Carrying me,
And in carrying,

The World.

Mama and Papa,
Perhaps I know what’s changed.

Over the years, as my shadow
Crosses yours, as you could
No longer engulf me fully
In the fluid of your embrace,

Perhaps, it is nature:
That I’ve grown

Perhaps, though,
But Mama and Papa,
I am the same child twice, am I
Not? And thrice, the same child over
And over again.

Is it possible,
That it’s not me,
Who’s grown bigger,
But you, in time,
That’s gotten


Like waves receding into
The center of the Ocean.

Over the years, maybe, you are growing
Small, Mama and Papa.

And smaller,

‘Til you are small enough to fit,
And in so fitting, sleep,
In the calmness of my heart.

Now that I carry the world for you.



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