Regenerate

they say earthworms have five hearts.

a worm cut
accidentally on the sidewalk
by a tricycle wheel—i watched closely
pebbles indenting my palms
as i knelt above him
and apologized as he kept moving.
it rained that day
and later more were scattered
in scribbled pattern,
collecting on the driveway.

sometimes it disappears altogether
and i can feel a space in my chest
so large i dip under with my eyes open
and splash around, hands cutting water.

(i shout, you’ve never asked
me to, but I’ll empty out my head
for you. and when we’re in
knee deep i’ll use
a blue bucket to bail us out.)

on occasion it turns to dust.
i start over
making a new one out of scraps inside.
like an almost-mother
i shed what i do not use.