On Using Your Arm as an Airbag

I like to think of myself as holding the world in my hands.

Not

power-hungry holding the world or

God-complex holding the world –

although feminism is fun

(however abused

and cliché.)

That is not my meaning.

I hold the world because

I took a personality test and got

Blue.

Mother.

Grandmother.

Peanut butter cookies and a La-Z-Boy rocking –

and I’m told

I’m a really good kisser.

Nevermind I have a natural inclination

to self-sacrifice

and listen

to bleed from the heart.

Careful it doesn’t    break.

Such a precarious thing.

Volatile,
precarious
snow globe
of a thing.

I’ll take these small hands

and stretch them
out

   cradle you all

   in a vast
      palm basin.

I can take you on my shoulders,

a piggy-ride home –

Kneel down beside you
to take up oak mantle.

I’ll help you    carry that

up the rest of the hill.