I Stand Outside This Woman’s Work

& watch Kevin Bacon conjure fake tears in a Real Hallway
& I am Real Tears in a fake hallway
& “Procreation is gross though”

I’m nine & a half, watching “The Miracle
of Life” on my mother’s bed

Stirring my shells & cheese
I see that Big ’70s Bush split in twain!
I drop my spoon
Surely, I am not this Bloody Meat

I march down to the kitchen
& make an announcement:
“I am never having a baby!”

My mother takes me to a Sunday
matinee of She’s Having a Baby

In the dark, we share a giant pickle
in wax paper & weep openly
for Poor Kevin Bacon

There’s been a complication with the birth
                          & Kate Bush croons
               “Ooh, it’s hard on the man, now his part is over. . .”

In line to buy the soundtrack at Sam Goody
               my mother tells me a secret—
                          “Women who don’t give birth
                                        tend to get cancer.”

                          Everything begins to split:

          Meanwhile, under the microscope
                                pond scum cells shimmer
                                            & for god’s sake mitose

Something wicked falls
          sideways from my mouth         “Why don’t you have
                                                                        your own grandkids then?”

This is more or less what my mother does
          but not without complications—

            What an awkward sort of sadness         to wait out in the hallway

                                                                                        with Poor Kevin Bacon
while Birth & Death sing their biggest hits
                                                                                                 without you