Reckon Me
seven pounds and one ounce, twenty-one inches
at six thirty-four of AM
bloody and breathless i came, began
wailing, snorting shocking dry air into unused yet lungs.
i could count at age three up to twenty (so old!)
and nickel and dime to one hundred.
three quarters per week, twenty-five cents for each
jar: god, (sunday basket bound); savings; and
spending (at will) always guiltily empty.
i'm only one century divided by four, a decade
into two thousand, plus nine months before the beginning
where i, swimming within, was weightless. just us
for those forty weeks: more two hundred days
i sang meditations
on being.
ever since, though, my body trails numbers
of blood-pressure, heart-rates, IQs and test scores.
i disappointed my mother: i sixteen years old, p-
sat too small and i too many calories.
find me a season of movement unmeasured.
Reckon me not "wanting" or "not," but easy inhales,
easy exhales, easy heartbeat, whole, steady and humming
a hymnal of Shanti, spherical rhythms
announcing our places in the family of things.
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