I want to steal from a thousand movies

the scene where a woman
screams and that
scream delivers an infant,

an echo from a red cavern.

The scream, the baby,
both born from the body,

both sovereign now and fading
no matter how loud the cry.

~

In this scene the infant wails and the mother won’t wake

because all sound travels

from its source,

the direction

always

away.

~

Say the word. Say the word
and we’ll rewind
the spool

of film.
No scream. No echo.
No body
leaving a body
torn, bloody.
Just a woman
smiling, speaking.

This footage proves my mother once spoke
the syllables of my name

in broken English. In broken English

my mother once spoke
and held my body close.
From her then a whimper, then farther
her voice traveled.

From her
this world,
this mangled sentence.