Etiquette
Last week, a mother told me, the only people present
at her daughter’s birth were her husband and her midwife.
“I didn’t want my mother or anyone there, because…
all the sounds you make…” She smiled and looked away,
looking embarrassed. The mysterious, primal memory
looked strangely anachronistic at the kitchen table
with red cloth placemats and blue sippie cups,
a blotchy Polaroid of a savage jungle,
the spectrum of wild colors and calls
rendered tame, boxed, just small enough
to be swept away with a polite chuckle.