The Good Book
1. Bonding
The Book discusses Bonding:
the methods, the timing, the
importance of.
Even before birth, in-utero, that special connection
between mother and child, father and child, siblings and child
worlds, and universes, and worm-holes and child. The lovely
nirvanic state of familial
Bonding.
Bondage, though apropos,
is not a term found in the Book.
The fact that you will not sleep, or leave your home, or
even depart your stained and rank chair for several weeks.
That you will spend 16 hours a day with a
turbine powered, supercharged, fuel injected, V8
suction assaulting some of you more tender parts--
also not mentioned.
2. The First Month
The book describes the pain
of not knowing if that wavery keening
is a hunger cry or a tired cry.
The pain of worrying about your child’s percentages
head-size-wise and weight and length.
It doesn’t spend text
on chapped nipples, cracked nipples, bleeding
nipples, medicated breast pads, doesn’t
mention at all that special sort of ripping pain
when it’s time to remove
the breast pad your nipple has scabbed to,
the tenderized flesh collecting, connecting
with any form more solid than its
broken-throated self.
3. Getting to know your child
The Book uses euphemisms that sound
like something you will pay at the dentist’s for later:
sweetheart, precious, muffin, munchkin, darling girl, dear boy.
or like something you spend twenty minutes with a pair
of pliers and a wire cutter to remove the packaging from:
brand new, newborn, newest addition.
And a prize, a trophy, that engraved plaque or at least
the gauche-3-cent-shiny- yellow-science-fair ribbon
is awarded to…
New Arrival--
like she just came in on a plane, taxied
her way into our well-ordered lives from
New York or Belize with maybe a short
stopover in Detroit.
Arrived.
No nine months, no Braxton Hicks
contractions, no
maternity clothes, back spasms, incontinence. No KY.
No ultrasounds or stirrups, no probes.
Arrived.
Just Like That.
Other, more practical names
are not mentioned, at least,
not by the Book. Not in the table of contents, the section titles. Not even
in the reference tables or glossary --
As though never spoken by other parents, who must think
all babies are always precious
all of the time –
Yoda, Wrinkled Old Man (for a girl), Scowlface,
Wiggle Worm, Human Pacifier, Baby Mole,
Snapping Turtle, Little
Piranha Girl, Parasite
Leech.
4. Acknowledgements
The Book.
Accepted as one of the best
sources for new parents. Referenced by other,
thinner books, recommended
by 9 out of 10 pediatricians
but maybe, I think,
not primarily for accuracy.
Although, we do like our little Snapping Turtle
a little bit more
than a little bit, so maybe they weren’t
entirely wrong. Not entirely.
And maybe
we weren’t either.
Published 2011 in the Anthology Mamas and Papas
Return to Poetry Page/ Next Poem
The Book discusses Bonding:
the methods, the timing, the
importance of.
Even before birth, in-utero, that special connection
between mother and child, father and child, siblings and child
worlds, and universes, and worm-holes and child. The lovely
nirvanic state of familial
Bonding.
Bondage, though apropos,
is not a term found in the Book.
The fact that you will not sleep, or leave your home, or
even depart your stained and rank chair for several weeks.
That you will spend 16 hours a day with a
turbine powered, supercharged, fuel injected, V8
suction assaulting some of you more tender parts--
also not mentioned.
2. The First Month
The book describes the pain
of not knowing if that wavery keening
is a hunger cry or a tired cry.
The pain of worrying about your child’s percentages
head-size-wise and weight and length.
It doesn’t spend text
on chapped nipples, cracked nipples, bleeding
nipples, medicated breast pads, doesn’t
mention at all that special sort of ripping pain
when it’s time to remove
the breast pad your nipple has scabbed to,
the tenderized flesh collecting, connecting
with any form more solid than its
broken-throated self.
3. Getting to know your child
The Book uses euphemisms that sound
like something you will pay at the dentist’s for later:
sweetheart, precious, muffin, munchkin, darling girl, dear boy.
or like something you spend twenty minutes with a pair
of pliers and a wire cutter to remove the packaging from:
brand new, newborn, newest addition.
And a prize, a trophy, that engraved plaque or at least
the gauche-3-cent-shiny- yellow-science-fair ribbon
is awarded to…
New Arrival--
like she just came in on a plane, taxied
her way into our well-ordered lives from
New York or Belize with maybe a short
stopover in Detroit.
Arrived.
No nine months, no Braxton Hicks
contractions, no
maternity clothes, back spasms, incontinence. No KY.
No ultrasounds or stirrups, no probes.
Arrived.
Just Like That.
Other, more practical names
are not mentioned, at least,
not by the Book. Not in the table of contents, the section titles. Not even
in the reference tables or glossary --
As though never spoken by other parents, who must think
all babies are always precious
all of the time –
Yoda, Wrinkled Old Man (for a girl), Scowlface,
Wiggle Worm, Human Pacifier, Baby Mole,
Snapping Turtle, Little
Piranha Girl, Parasite
Leech.
4. Acknowledgements
The Book.
Accepted as one of the best
sources for new parents. Referenced by other,
thinner books, recommended
by 9 out of 10 pediatricians
but maybe, I think,
not primarily for accuracy.
Although, we do like our little Snapping Turtle
a little bit more
than a little bit, so maybe they weren’t
entirely wrong. Not entirely.
And maybe
we weren’t either.
Published 2011 in the Anthology Mamas and Papas
Return to Poetry Page/ Next Poem