Before the pocket, a newborn kangaroo is only the size of a lima bean. After birth, it climbs by itself, untutored, handhold by handhold, up the hilly crest of its mother's body and into the pouch where somehow it knows t…  | By Luisa A. Igloria on September 3, 2024 | Before the pocket, a newborn kangaroo
is only the size of a lima bean. After birth,
it climbs by itself, untutored, handhold by
handhold, up the hilly crest of its mother's
body and into the pouch where somehow
it knows the milk is waiting. Instinct can be
explained like this, I suppose—otherwise, how
could anyone know where the edge
of the blind forest ends and where you might
stumble along a trail to be found, find
your way to a warm bed, have your mouth
filled with something warm and sweet?
Have I always been the mother whose kind
of love wants to tuft every pillow in the room,
slide furniture into place before anyone announces
arrival? My heart hides in voluminous folds
of skin, wipes the creases clean. Deep in the night,
it hears the sound of its own slow beating,
echoes bouncing off the walls in empty space. | | | |
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