into the great mystery

This morning
ten minutes
before the roosters begin
and an hour
before my alarm clock,
my son woke up hollering - 
But, I’m still hungry!
As if sleep had cleared the plate
out from under him
and lay it clattering in the sink.
I waited,
went pee,
debated.
Finally I gave up,
brought his little body
in striped skeleton
pajamas into bed with me.
It’s still dark, I told him.
He quietly tucked
his shape into mine,
knees folded to stomach,
blonde head against chest,
the breasts that used to feed him
all warm and comfort and home.
My eyes closed to the embrace.
The curve of his body
through time
A  newborn
An embryo
An idea
An egg
A cell from my grandmother,
the one that formed my mother,
the one that placed
the eggs inside of that uterus,
the one that became me and my eggs
and all of the women
lined up behind us
and the wriggling amoeba
in the sticky mud, the one
who crawled out from the 
water, to be born.