"Incarnating"

by Peggy Hong

Waves descend your open throat,

chest, gut,

down your empty legs

to the soles of your feet.

You are the sister

who swallows the ocean.

 

You spend gaseous, blurry days

smelling your baby,

rubbing your scent on her

to make her yours.

You inhale her puffs

of air, that smell of milk.

You swallow her whole:

you have been starving

for her.

 

Breastmilk itself is invisible.

 

But you watch it plump

 

your baby's silk pocket cheeks,

 

listen to her gulp

 

like some untamed creature.

 

Hear it. Every swallow

 

announces her intention

 

to stay.

 

 

 

Your baby fills the room.

Close your eyes.

Reach out and pull her

down from the corner

of the ceiling, where

she floats

like the feathers

of those who brought

her here.

 

From The Sister Who Swallows the Ocean (1997)

 

Used with permission of the author.


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Last edited on Monday, January 24, 2000.