…since I am sure my love’s
more ponderous than my tongue.
Cordelia. King Lear.
Her muscles move. She sounds just like her breath—
like a machine can breathe the air. You kiss
the baby and you blow away its death,
eh, Ice-Boy?—like a distant bell—a hiss
alive in both their heads. Today we will
learn the difference between a mother’s mind
and a boy’s imagination: the shrill
refractory melody each makes, the kind
that makes him ponderous to love, or so
the Ice-Boy thinks. This is a howling stage
to lift his soil aloft. Their mom will go
and leave poor baby Chuckles in her cage,
while the Ice-Boy is putting on his cape,
while he learns how to lie…and then escape.