Born of A Cry

By Adrian Cerone

To coddle and bathe it; to love as to hate it

To see yourself at its birthday; to capture it in pictures, each year a new candle lit

To kiss it, to cradle, to heal if you’re able

To feed it to change it to burp it and to never wonder if it’s worth it

To tuck it, in

To the blanket you knit In that home you built

To plant it to pot it (and then to repot it)

To grow it, just to throw it, because your cat can probably die from it, and you didn’t wanna Google it

To prune and to move, up the wall and through it

To house it to name it

To cut it, then satay it, reheat it because you waited around for it, to finally plate it

To savor, and chew it, cut right through it

To greet it not to chase it

Like an old friend, you’ve missed it

See and embrace it, handshake it and ice-break it

Wine it and dine it and not dozen dime it

To fight it to face it; in front of thousands

Disgrace it

Own it, then control it poke at and prod it

To stab at and slash

Bite at its neck, to fall flat and to crash

Down it, pounce on it, present and then I will mount it

To kill time, to save it; then one day I ate it