Thinktank

You have been saturated
by personality and identity
in the slow drip of seven years.
Accrued opinion-moods 
swell in your face like cysts,
hardening you into experience.
Preference girds you tightly.
Oh, baby skin and excitements,
the clear splash of summer-water
shooting from metal spouts
in the science garden at Eastside,
your plump legs in soaked shorts,
hair clinging to wet cheeks.
Oh, bare toes in the mini-canal,
hopping across stepping stones
to clamber into the hamster wheel,
steam engine packed lunches 
followed by planetarium shows.
The “Mom! Mom! Mom!” of endless
discovery to be witnessed and told.
Talk to me out of that stone mouth now.
Talk to me instead of the therapist.
Oh, look away from your chatbots,
tender date palm of my birth pains,
speak to me as if from the cradle.
Let the big tears brim as you inhale,
sit on the buggy board attachment,
raise your feet and glide citywide. 
Oh, an annual pass to a decade passed.
Don’t deny me entry to your room,
so fixed and heavy in resistance,
your brother and sister are ready—
let me take you to Thinktank.