I wasn’t nervous
when he was born,
just shaking,
my body waking
from worry I carried
nine months
before he was born,
worry I carried
like a jagged chain
growing inside me,
carried to work
sticking and gnawing
inside me,
carried it days I cooked
at one restaurant,
then nights I cooked at another,
carried it gnawing two jobs
no insurance not enough money for a doctor,
two jobs

and my wife
eighteen,
carrying our baby
through halls at Granite Hills High
heavy with worry,
both her uncles born handicapped,
a chain I’d carry forever
what if something goes wrong

my son was born a month early,
his skin yellow, his liver
immature but ok,

the relentless chain snapped open,
it disappeared from my gut

he came out
all balled up, not crying,
then scared, surprised at his freedom
cried when he found he could move
stretch out his legs, his arms

he quieted only when I held him
here
in the hollow
of my hand