Jan 142011

by Rene Diaz-Gomez

Had the Times, the pounds of mango

Grappled for a seat and won

Fluttered my boy’s hair for panoramas

A stout, opulent fabric

muffling our Sunday morning trip

Grabbed his chubby hand and stamped it

on my polka-dotted belly

Him, with a panic-wide mouth, pulled off

A kicking promise in my core,

a third branch sprouting off

the tree of me