A baby looked in the mirror of mommy eyes and turned to stone.
She still drank milk, gained weight.

The baby didn’t have daddy issues, the father had daughter issues,
and he hated his wife for not giving birth to him.
This is too obvious, the mother said, she didn’t.
In fact, the baby was speaking:

I am writing the poem to be my parents now,
because I give birth to it. I use metaphors so they fail,
use writing as glasses, use people
as examples of symptoms, and I’m dying of life,

but Mommy gave birth so she could be seen.
I came out of the womb with a job I can’t quit.