Eight Hours

Eight Hours

It’s December 31st, 2006,
and I am typing at 2:21 a.m.

But if it is 1986 today I
will be born in eight hours.

My heart has been
beating for nine months.

I have been clutching
to the insides of my mother.

I have not known time,
nor life, nor joy, nor pain—

I have not known a
single thing of what’s to come.

I have not yet seen
the color of grass in sunlight.

This is the beginning.
But not before a good night’s sleep.