Song for the first, when first conceived (of)

by Anne Boyer

Sing yourself from the choirs
Of the unsung. Who can sing

Of you? Gigantic as an apple seed,
the first lullaby burning on the bush.

Sic your dogs on my dreams.
They are not so bad

baring each enamel, darling,
in the context of your infinitesimal

eye-socket or your arms like February
(oh fronds of lash-small fingers!).

It is a pleasure to be effaced by you,
puny cupid, piercing my overgrown heart

I’ll be fat as a birthday balloon for you
or an inverse Penelope spinning myself into your cocoon.

Anne Boyer is mother to a daughter. Her memoir, Tenuous, was published in Literary Mama. Her other work can be found in print journals like New Letters and 13th Moon, and online at Identity Theory, Retort, and The Mothers Movement. Her online journal may be read at http://pourannie.blogspot.com/. She is also the editor of the print magazine Crock: A Journal of Domestic Bliss.