You First Inquired in the Kitchen

You first inquired in the kitchen,
shredding chicken for enchiladas:
"What about children?"

"What about them?" I quipped,
already knowing your intent.

"How many?"
"One," I blurted.
"Or ten."

You smiled.

"When?" You pressed.
"Someday."
"Soon?" You pressed harder.
"Someday."

"Some day you're going to have two hearts inside of you."