Matryoshka

My baby has (a baby—
a porcelain bauble (baked
into a King’s Cake. An infant
(infinitesimal, breathless, mostly
heartbeat. (And arching
in its (paunch, a child with (child, itself
distended with the water-
(weight of triplets, (quadruplets,
an uncountable bounty
clustered (like drupelets. Branching
fractals of little hands.
(Umbilical bouquets (and
tessellated placentae.
An infinity (mirror mosaicked
in ultrasound. In dreams
(my babies and their
babies (overtake me
like ants. Listen
(to their echoing chambers.
From (a distance, I watch (the excess of
my body (go elastic—
spread thin (like floodwater,
butter-pat, ball-bearings
fallen (on the floor.
What humbling (gust
has so unmoored
the (spokes from my seed-head?
What (futures root in
the fallout?

This poem was originally published in the Fall 2020 Issue of Nimrod International Journal, where it was shortlisted for the Pablo Neruda Poetry Prize.