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ABOUT
FATIMA
LIM-WILSON
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The Nursing Hour
FOR FRANCIS LORENZO
by Fatima Lim-Wilson
Morning. And first light filters
through,
Unreeling like an old movie. Complete
Silence whirs, a mechanical bird
Trapped in the ear. Until you cry,
And I rise, shivering from the ice sheets
Of sleep, brought back to life by the summons
Of your hunger. In the short distance
From one room to another. I move,
Metamorphosis of my mother. Somehow,
I know her cues by heart. Just as you know,
Even in deepest sleep, how to harvest roses
From my shapelessness, feeding off the honey
Of my simplest joys, manna of memories.
And I, too am nourished, made a goddess
By your need. Before the day
progresses into its cinematic splendor
And background noises muffle our mime,
Let us rock back and forth in time
Shared rhythm of past clasping its future:
Ocean swirl of the womb, love call
Of the heart's tightened drum.
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