marc tretin

BY THE TIME I FINISH SPEAKING TO YOU, I WILL BE RESIDING IN YOUR
BELLY BUTTON, TEMPORARILY.

As your dead mother, not qualified for heaven
and almost too good for the upper rung of hell,
I took the deal they gave me; I’ll be born again through you,
because I never loved you the way
a mother should love a daughter.
Your dull mind made me feel self-pity,
as if you were an unwanted part of myself.
But now I’ll live in your navel. It’s a practice for pregnancy.
You can refuse at any time and send me to hell.
Though you told me you did not want children,
I know you meant you do not want parents
or, at least, me as a mother. But as your child.
I’ll be a tune beyond your hearing, like the whales
who swam the seas of a far-off planet where
your kind thoughts saved me from drowning.
Upon my birth, your body will change your mind.
Sounds will spell out syllables, meanings will overlap.
Cutlery clanging, a garbage truck backing up,
and the AC’s whir will be a complete sentence.
The world will make as much sense as it does
and no more. I know you have questions.
Who will be my new father?
My old lover Jamaal, yes, your professor
of hieroglyphics. I think he is the same man
who made love to me in the shortest pharaoh’s
pyramid, next to the smallest coffin
holding only unwrapped linen.

We will know your Jamaal by the limp I gave him
when my prayer of vengeance worked better than
I thought it could. But we need one more sign.
If after class, he asks you to go with him
for some pretty good take-out dim sum, he could be yours.
You will walk with him and then offer your elbow.
He’ll take it. Then you will feel love going deep into your gut.
I will fill your womb. Love, like the dead, does not respect boundaries.
But don’t worry; virgins think too much about too little.
Know, I will be there a half hour before he gets there.
In a month, you will know you are pregnant.
You will tell him.
He will get down on one knee to propose.
You will say yes.
Then, you’ll help him up.
Flowers will be blooming in little pots from tenement windows.
I’ll give my wedding gift to you, now.
In five minutes, you’ll forget this conversation.
To fully love someone is to completely forget
why you love them, but know you just do
and always will.
As your daughter, I will always know
why I love you. It’s the best I can do.

Marc Tretin’s writing has been published or is forthcoming in a number of literary outlets such as The Diagram, Literary Orphans, The Massachusetts Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, Voices de la Luna, Vox Poetica, and more. His poetry collection, Pink Mattress, has been published by New York Quarterly Press in 2016. Marc received an MFA in Poetry from Spalding University, and was an attorney in private practice before retiring.