I note a lump inside me,
in my body –
in the thorax, in fact –
in my chest –
just shy
of the sixth rib.

It throbs.

It is clearly alive.

It is an eager, pupate lepidoptera.

Or, no, it is a slim lizard, legs bundled, incubating.

Or, no, it is a cradling mammal perhaps, coiled like an ammonite,
fragile paws over sightless eyes,
praying for its life.

Or, no, i see clearly now it is a gleaming spring
of terror,
its breathing a rhythmic flexing of its own strength,
preparing to stand out into the world,
where it will do infinite mischief beyond all recall.

I have treasured it so,
loved it so, this thing,
and i accept that i shall treasure it always,
even as it clears my breastbone and murders us all.