i saw a bluebird
and a cardinal
out the window
and i thought of
my mother’s many
miscarriages
i imagined her
weeping, kneeling
over her womb
laid out on a stretcher
above her
no longer feeling
a small heartbeat
bouncing around
the silence of
her tongue
i saw a bluebird
and a cardinal
out the window
and i thought of
the fact that i was
sitting here looking
at birds
as my mother’s
daughter flew
as if there
were a sun in the room
and i cried
as if she could
feel my tears inside
of her
like my tiny fingers
and feet
when i was in
her beautiful
stomach
i saw a bluebird
and a cardinal
out the window
and i thought of
the event
of being born
i do not remember
my birth
nor does
the doctor
whom i cannot claim
to have never met
hands scored
with disinfectant
touching my newborn
body
delicate
i grew up to
tell people i
was born in texas
and they tell me
all about texas
and i learn more
than i would had
i not been born
there, had
i not lived elsewhere
a box
of tissues on
the nightstand
i saw a bluebird
and a cardinal
out the window
and i thought of
how i was a
completely new
person to her
(my mother)
when i was born
and does
a parent ever
truly know the
stranger they created?
so i sat
and wondered
all the while
my mother
in a car
reassuring my every
turn, dodging roadkill
flies on the antlers
more carcasses
than yellow lines
on the road
i saw a bluebird
and a cardinal
out the window
and i thought of
my mother and i
and how are we?
and how many?