Hey! I just sent in my entry to Spire Press's contest, in the nick of time! I had to run to the mailbox! In the middle of the night! In the rain!

Here's a rewrite:

I cut out most of it --


Your Birth

Joy, of course, and a mess on the floor.
Strangers spinning round the bedside,
chlorine pools diminishing.
The light stands still in bowls outside.

You rise from the porch of your
father’s undoing while the clouds
dissipate. Party goers pass
on either side, shake their shoulders
as if to boogie or make trouble.

You will do both, handful
of foot and gum,
precious bowl.