Choosing
I am born with nine others and I lay safe among them in a tight ball of light breathing. I know there is a nipple for me but I am small, it seems, and must push hard for my mother’s milk. We are like one at first, a moving body with forty legs. Snuggly linked shoulder to jowl, each an extension of each other. Knitted together by our scent, warmth, under belly of straw and a heart beat. All is secure and dark. Our moths attach and suckle in unison. We sleep and then cry for more. There is...