by Jesse Breite
On the day the baby comes my sister texts she’s been in a wreck My wife begins labor My sister pushes her body out of the sunroof her ankle shattered her expectations useless after what occurs My wife would break my hand to help me understand The wheel turned in My daughter’s head faces down Her lungs give up a scream My father drives full fathom five hundred miles to help his baby who cries for painkillers my own still just to know she’s alive Time circles with arms like knives I feel the reeling of love’s convictions— this newborn weightlessness this iron foot I drag behind
Jesse Breite’s recent poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Chattahoochee Review, Tar River Poetry, Fourteen Hills, and Rhino. His chapbook is The Knife Collector (FutureCycle, 2013). He is also librettist for Atlanta composer Michael Kurth’s choral scores. Jesse teaches high school in Asheville, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and two kids. More at jessebreite.com.