Contributor Series 11: On Birthdays
Foolish Love
By Cathy Douglas

The animal at my breast
is our shot at perfection,
though neither cute nor very small.
Whatever possessed us?
The abyss of his eyes
reveals none of your mechanical ability
or my perfect pitch,
just the reflection of a truth
like us.

In the wake of ecstatic birth
we find we have replicated
my tartness, your dissatisfaction.
He coils his head back like
a rattlesnake, screaming.
I gentle him back into position
and he dives for a nipple,
quiet again, yet fierce–
so fierce!–
body gripping body in mindless love,
like us.