Current Issue/Words/The H Bomb

Claire Cahir - "The H Bomb"

I hate you.

The words spill out of her small mouth, resplendent

vengeance effervesces as if seething

in her viscera for some time. She blazes,

whips around 180 degrees en pointe.

Warnings while she gestated in my womb resound:

Brace for budding teenage insolence laced with pimples,

periods, and sullen tragedy. Dark red locks

lash out as she peddles past me in the doorway.

In a moment of maternal solace, I recoup

open some tea to retrieve consolation in chamomile.

Welcome wisdom on the box offers up an African proverb,

“By persevering, the egg walks on legs.”

She is asleep when I cross the threshold of her bedroom.

Her freckled face boasts newly carved cheekbones, slender body

tranquil. One errant leg escapes the covers and I smile

when I realize she is grounded by my size nine feet.