Amelia on Her Birth Day

A Sonnet

Your mother cried through the laughing gas—cried

biblically, "Get it out of me!" and you

flooded out, long-headed and alien blue,

Jaundiced in mucous and blood, new eyes wide

open to a chilly ward with strangers

beaming at you, like cannibals, in joy.

"Overcooked," one nurse chimed. And not a boy,

We knew, when Sam shrieked, "A niece!" What dangers,

we are, with our love, you'll know all too soon--

molding you to a sad, misshapen need--

but, for now, we'll let you be: urgent, freed

and piping your fair, obstreperous tune,

‘I amb, I amb, I amb, I amb, I amb.’

Now free me from this milkless form—goddamn!