Oh Incubator!

By Noah T. Walsh (‘23)

When hands hold knees and chin to chest, 
There is enough room for a book, a candle, and a flog 
 — a little air at best 
the cozy, cloudy, inculcating smog. 

I clamber out the coffer a newborn cog, 
“Hey look mom, I’m a good little machine!” 
“Oh son, that’s odd, 
When did you get so lean, so obscene? 

You must have forgotten all belief, your dreams.” 
So, we walk through a grove with warm mugs 
I chew my cheek wondering what she means, 
“Return. Be gentle, never bury your soul” she says with a hug. 

Oh Incubator! I salute you! I will make you a tool! 
No longer will you be my twisted sense of school! 

Now you are a vessel with self-sustaining fuel! 
To the coast! I spot deep, electric, tidal pools! 

In this sub, I greet every sea-slug 
A new view, colorful, with life the waters teem. 
Openness — a new drug! 
Amidst the churning water, I send my thoughts up with engine steam. 

I had built the coffer to be the coffin that it seemed: 
Once student in a bog 
Now I sail the Universe free! 
I will never cease to dive, even in the fog, 

For I have the joy of a rescued dog, 
With buoyancy of driftwood possessed, 
Yet the calmness of a fallen forest log, 
Godspeed those with the willingness to listen and assess!