We Weren’t Expecting You

2024—
The cradle is saddle brown, sturdy,
like thighs that’ll withstand a sliding
tackle or a perfect-form clean and jerk,

Hot Wheels and Springboks on every diaper
newborn to Size 4. Welcome Baby Boy!,
letters made from a Krav Magda belt, hung

over the closet door, tight, black bow
like ink injected too deep, distorting
an image only the artist can see.

2036—
Foiled orange butterflies glide
across a sheer white canopied bed.
Underneath, tufts of aquamarine

timeworn by toe steps, balls of lamb’s
wool for the sore spots, wedged
between the mattress gap.

Stuffy blue shark from Aunt Cat lies
atop tears outlined on the face
of Samantha Parkington, American Girl.