Joan Colby Verse-Virtual 2017 February

February 2017

I have written poetry and short fiction all my life and published a lot of it. My day job is editor of a trade publication Illinois Racing News. I live on a small horse farm in northern Illinois with my husband and various animals. My latest book, "Ribcage," (from Glass Lyre Press) recently won the 2015 Kithara Book Prize. I also am an associate editor of FutureCycle Press and Kentucky Review.

Lullaby for Benjamin

You were born on Holy Thursday.
Easter, the nurses brought you
done up in rabbits ears
but I saw through that,
remembering how you gushed out
in a shroud of blood,
your sternum jutting like a handle,
your face screwed up as if the light
hurt you.
They laid you on my belly
as your feedbag, squeezed
out of my vagina, a slippery
red wombat.
I heard your screams
when they hauled you off to slice
away your foreskin. I struggled
but they held me. After all,
I’d authorized this thing before
I even knew your sex.
You sucked
like the devil at my breast,
red and thirsty
with a mouth made for rooting
and eyes that fastened on mine
to engage my heart, my pity.
A howler
no arms could comfort,
you stiffened and waved your fists
in a terrible protest.
Eight years later, you sit
at the table putting together
a jigsaw puzzle of the world
you fought against entering.

My youngest child--
too old to believe in the Easter Bunny,
too young to know that monsters
are not what will really hurt you.
I can’t allay the fears
that notch your nightmares
like the toy gun you insist on sleeping with,
your fingers curled around the trigger
as your body rediscovers
its fetal position. I still
am heavy with you.

Another Chicago Magazine

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