ODE TO MY BELLYBUTTON by Michael Cox-Maldonado

Really you are

the triumphant mountain

of my depression; the mound

of my father and his forefathers. Perhaps

the protuberance of Irish women too? Their hairy

beer belly, a knoll. Life! Vigor! The comfort of an

old Apache grandfather, resting their babes on a fat

pillow. A pillow of fat. Fatty pillows. The mixture

of corn syrup and cellulite and “hey-don’t-fries-

sound-great-right-now?” órale! I hate you

with so much love quaking that I need

the serotonin. The scar of my SSRI.

The birth of my children.

I want to lose you at

times and then

I am grateful

that I feel: