The Crossing

and the beginning of my march on life…

Photo by Rose Erkul on Unsplash

The Crossing

Slow moving lava lamp,
liquid dreams of
my days and nights
for nine months (more or less).
I couldn’t take it anymore…
and the crossing,
like Jonah crawling
from the darkest depths
of the whale,
came just after dawn
peeled its blurred eyes
and my mother had spent another night
two-stepping and four-count waltzing
in the taverns and bars
of Market Street.