To the stranger who offers to hold a door for me—
No need, I walk backwards into doors to inspire
a third arm.
To strangers who hand me napkins,
I guess I look like I could use a napkin.
To the stranger yelling across restaurant tables—
HOW’S THE BABY SLEEPING?
—She doesn’t—
I play her whale songs all night to aid her infant sleep.
I carry the feeling of being underwater
around with me
on a sunny July Morning.
To the two strangers who scold me—
where’s the baby’s sunhat!
—as I walk down my own street—
I am Johannes Kepler
tracking the angle of sun
using the planet of my body
to shade her.
To the stranger who follows me down the street
as I hold an 18-pound car seat,
a 10-pound diaper bag
and an 8-pound baby—
then heckles me
as I decline his help—
You women want to do everything yourself!—
He comes closer— I decline his help again.
He comes closer. I decline—
You women want to do everything yourself—
He is too close to the cab—
I accidentally hit my daughter’s tiny head into a cab door.
The baby is screaming.
I am holding her. I am tangled up
in an 18-pound car seat and 10-pound diaper bag—
He is almost in the cab—
I don’t have a hand to close the door—
He comes closer and I
–FFFV–
He is almost in the—and I—
FFFHUDHUDHUD—
FFFFVVVFVDFVDFVDVUUDHDHDRVRHUH—
That’s “get the fuck away from my baby”
in whale song.
And I slam the cab door.
To the guy drinking on an East Village street-corner
chanting God bless the baby as I pass—
Thanks, guy.
To my dear, neglected husband—
he would like to go on a date with me,
last night was kind of rough, luv—
To get this look: sleep deprivation and spit up in the hair.