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Laura Stevenson
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1
I'm a bright white egg and I incubate in a warm, yellow light in the winter.
2
And I'll hatch on a snow-covered morning, and no one will be awake to see it happen.
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There is no history, there is no expecation, just warm yellow light on my skin.
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And I'm blessed by my mother, though I'll never know her, and I'll never be lonesome again.
5
I'm a bright entertainer in a silent theater I wearily quarry into.
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And my mother, she stands where the characters dance from the light at the height of the room.
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And every night I repeat the phrases, just to see if she predicts the changes.
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And I'd die for a word if it's all she'd afford but she closes up knowing it.
9
Where I am is right at the beginning of it, all I know I was born with. Where she is, she is fixed in a prison so fast she is frozen, the air she breathes is a slow wind.
10
I'm a tired arachnid, spinning loose in my threads, building lifetimes of gossamer beds.
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And the filigree waterdrops around my head, they absorb every word that I said.
12
There are no wings hitched to my spine, just an undying urge to climb.
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And I'll wait for my mother, supposing she'd bother to hold me and keep me a while.
14
To hold me and keep me a while.
Laura Stevenson: NPR Music Tiny Desk Con...
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