Joshua

that all babies are born, as you are,
bound to breathing machines,
their bodies small enough to fit a hand
and weighing less than two pounds

that all babies are born equal

that I can look you in the eye

this is no lie:
that the moon of your birth night
tracked your mother
from hospital to hospital
spilled its cool light
on insurance ledgers
weighing your worth

that her fertile heart
froze to sand
each time
she was turned away

that at twenty,
I was a nurse
starched and stupid with notions
of night sirens
unloading pain
at emergency room doors
as call to care

I hold you, Joshua, in my palm,
your chest blows
the breathing machine
and the walls of my denial
tumble