Birth by Samuel Willhalm

I had left her

sweating in front of

the hot glass. A cup

for water – in case

I forgot. Where


does the heart set in?

She tries to shake it

free. To hold it like the cold

limb or the rain

leaf or the fracture.

The geese pick at trash under

the bridge by the gravel chute.


She sits outside.

Spoonheads in a water mosaic.


The red brick.

The last glimpse. A

last glimpse –

plain in between the curve

of the index finger.


I fall out

of my mother – half orange

on the bench. Her hands ball

into dangling spheres.

This is quite a difficult thing to cope with.

One last squeeze.

I need help.


Samuel Willhalm is an MFA student at Portland State University. His poetry has been published in the Redlands Review. Samuel currently lives in Portland with his girlfriend and pet python, Douglas.