and halves that exclude birthrights, when we dissect
to our spines, do we stand two-parts-never-whole?

drink of your legacy; drink of your blood.
but half-cup full or half-empty? mixed baby, I ask

you this: draw me a bath of soap-sud-stinging
eyes and gulp of your averages, your

mean, median, mode. straddle your box and whisker
plots with chafed thighs. find one leg stuck

between traffic and the other racing roads
home. map out nonlinear heredity, branch

one fat-almond-eyes-black-haired-baby
to twice-tongued-foreign-familiar-baby

for a third star-in-mother’s-motherland-baby
for a fourth my-last-name-deceives-baby

for a fifth forked-veins-in-spleen-baby
for a sixth both-either-nor-baby.

rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, baby.
split cradle and all, you’ll stand—you’ll speak.