Hope

Hope 

by Arjun Iyer

Baby, we’ve all got high hopes for you

Even when you pop out pug-ugly

Fat arms, fat ass, cheeks chock-full of fat

Squeezing shut those squinty lids

That we’ll all love just the same.

Because to us, your chunky mug will hold eyes, beautiful as your mother’s

And in that tantrum clamors a voice, strong like your father’s.

[AI1] Your skin will shine a soft café-au-lait

And we pray that you won’t inherit my nose, anyway.

Baby, your first breath of life will take mine away[AI2] 

My god, you’ll be brainy – brilliance is your legacy, like a tree

That from seed needs to be nurtured deep within the earth

Our soil is fertile;

Formulated from a finely combined blend

Of aged compost and Haber’s ammonia[AI3] 

And when we’re done, we lay sweating and spent[AI4] 

Hoping everything goes as it was meant

Baby, I worry

For your sake, but mostly for mine[AI5] 

It is a worry that is deep and pervading, invading my thoughts

More than any idea not yet conceived[AI6]  ought

A father’s fears once had names like typhoid and diphtheria

Their weight settling on the womb of his young wife like a grinning death’s head

And I? I worry about whether my baby will ever ‘find herself’.

Whatever that means.

A father’s fears once were immediate and suffocating; when

For every three hopeful women the Angel of Death passes by

It lurks behind the belly of one hopeful woman.

Forget Harvard Law and trust funds

All he can think to do

Is hope.

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Recurrent Laryngeal Nerve

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Recurrent Laryngeal Nerve

by Arjun Iyer 

There are nerves in our arms, there are nerves in our ears,

There are nerves that make sure we can see and can hear,

There are nerves in our feet (that can oft fall asleep)

And there’s nerves behind even the tiniest sneer

But though most neurons travel with nary a curve,

Save to duck behind muscle or give a quick swerve,

From the Vagus spring forth, to return to the north

The amazing Recurrent Laryngeal Nerve

There are those that must question the worth of its trek

‘Round the top of the heart on its way to the neck

“How absurd,” with a laugh, “Have you seen the giraffe?”

“That’s a 15-foot detour!” they cry. “What the heck?”

Some may call it peculiar, and some call it odd,

And some say it disproves the existence of God

Something so overwrought must have taken no thought

“Or at least,” snigger they, “The design was quite flawed.”

But a nerve cannot feel and a nerve cannot hear

It just moves as it has been for millions of years

From the brain to the heart to neck (near the start)

Giving voices to naysayers voicing their jeers

Fine Hands Still Shake

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Fine Hands Still Shake

by Arjun Iyer

With fevered breath I start to shake -

Though I convince myself I’m fine

The toilet bowl beneath my hands

Will keep me there for hours still.

She lays me down and holds me still

And gives her head a gentle shake.

I dream, and know I’m in in good hands

Her gaze is strong; her hair is fine.

Three days have passed – I think I’m fine

Enough venture farther still.

My big, brown paws in her soft hands

A burger for her, for me a shake

Her eyes tell me, “You’ve got fine hands”

But even still they sometimes shake