A warm heart for cats and plants and goldfish,
the girl on the cusp, whistling out of tune,
arrives always with an air of running —
like suddenly stopped creatures in cartoons.
As for the first phase of cell division
when all possibilities were in range,
about to be born in her next incarnation,
she is still the sprite of air and flame;
with sometimes, now, a sleepy look —
earth tugging, so masking in dailiness her claim
that the fateful outcome must emerge
as confused and retrospective as a dream.
© Alison Clark