-- after Gregory Pardlo 

I was born at dinnertime with toes 
swimming in mother’s womb. I was born to meat pie 
my father chewed at the hospital cafe below. 
I was born to scalpel-sleeves and 2002 television pixels; 
Spirited Away was playing when I was born. I forget, though, 
mother’s hum when she held me, uncertainty characterized by certainty, 
at aged three her daughter would swallow a dead bee,
her earlobes would swell, turn red -- 
red meant prosperity, large earlobes gave 
the body good qi -- I was born auspicious. 
I bore an unexpected silence, a lull that made me 
float underwater when I first learned to swim, 
my father’s applause when I collected
the seashells he threw to the bottom of the pool.
The doctor said I was born horizontal, 
knees hovering overhead, extended arms; 
I was reaching before I was born.