Everything that happened to me
happened in the first person,
so I was intimately familiar
with the vastness of space.
There was a scribble
on the wall by my bed.
To me, it depicted a see-saw
unoccupied
balanced on a fulcrum
with a wiggly horizon
below only one seat.
When familiar maternal shrieks
shattered sleep’s escape
first I placed myself
on the left-hand seat,
then pumped my legs up and down
eventually dismounted to experience
roller-coaster hills, model trail villages,
cotton candy trees, sunflower suns.
Then, on her worst nights,
back to the beginning
this time teeter-tottering
on the right hand seat
until I slid off
into welcome void
rich, buoyant velvet black
uncluttered by astral matter.
I was a mobius strip
tucked inside a klein bottle,
a one dimensional artifact
contained inside
two dimensional space
infinitely swallowing itself whole
safe from my mother,
womb without end.
