embryology:

i told you that sometimes
when i'm depressed 
i curl up on the floor
& imagine myself
dissolving

in bed as my phone vibrated 
me into morning 
i fantasized about
becoming embryonic--

tucked my knees into
my chest & felt the 
membranes form
a sack around me

there was this poster
on the wall in 
our 5th grade class
room when we raised 
chickens 

it had all the stages 
of development the bird would
go through in the egg--

we turned the eggs--
he had heat lamps--

some of them never hatched
& i felt guilty--

i watched my mother 
crack an egg on
the side of a cast iron pan--

how close was i to a chicken?

is there time to go back?

i'm thinking of
all of these embryos like
plastic toys in those
gumball machines--

god puts in a quarter 
& we fall out--

a few feet away they bag
groceries

& my brother asks for
another quarter for
skittles

& we tumble
into our egg shells or 
mothers or fathers

or into the river sticks 
where all 
the empty babies go 
to wait to 
be reborn--

i like hot showers 
that make my skin throb--

shout red--

i like to close my
eyes & put my fingers
against membrane
walls-- throb--

i want to be smaller--
to go backwards
until the water 
run away with me
as simple as a dead leaf--

how many 
chromosomes was i away
from being born with
feathers?

would you have loved me?

skinny legs & yellowish down?

under the heat lamp--

turn me 
turn me

egg tooth in my
forehead--

the river is all our mothers
& our fathers are,
as always,
fishermen--

i wanted to tell you
that sometimes sadness is 
embryology--

& you say that you
want to sleep & sleep
& sleep--

i won't wake you up-- 

let me turn you--

i'll make sure that
you hatch--

& when i was in
fifth grade i saw god 
come in the window &
pick up the soul-less
eggs-- put them in
his pockets like 
quarters for
the gumball machine--

he put his finger to
his lips &  
whispered 

hush