she asks as we walk off the tennis court
& someone starts up a chainsaw behind the fence
in the parking lot so I have to shout no!
& I’m suddenly tired, never been this tired
of this question that’s always asked if you’re a woman,
chunks of air falling around us
like wildfire monsoon oily ocean machine-gunned
atomic mushroom babies on a shriveled planet
& she yells that she has three & her first grandchild!
while we stand on the hot asphalt with that chainsaw tearing
a log to pieces & just won’t quit. She opens her car door,
shows me the quilt she’s made, little lambs on it
& when I touch the softness I want to be born
into a world where I say yes.