1717

What part of me
will be born in you?
My father’s nose
sculpted like the statue
of Jupiter?
Or will your hummingbird flutters,
summon a tornado of arms and legs,
flipping like the gymnast I was?
Will my hazel eyes win out over
your father’s brilliant blue?

You rest, head down, tiny feet pressed
in my ribs,
the roo to my kanga,
stealing my breath
before you even arrive.

A mother and daughter,
tethered like hot air balloons
by the strongest of cords,
soon to be connected by only
the genes we share.

Kim Kile

Genetics