De Cabeza

There is a mystery growing between my ribs and my pubic bone
Soft shell of a child unfurls itself right side up
Or is it upside down – its position consumes me
It is the third coming of a child into the cloud
Like tangle of our lives

There is a happiness that the mystery demands
As I pull the dagger of trauma out of
The wounded womb it calls home
It releases a hazel smoke of worry and love
and fills my blossoming barrel with my scrawny faith

There is a shawl of laughter and music that now drifts about
Our home that only children summons,
rubs itself around my aging shoulders
Falls down in long lashes around my bulbous bodice
Catches the mystery in its inevitable turning
And holds its head near my heart