Maternity
My child, for me it is a time
of waiting, embracing, sacrificing.
My body, everchanging—
first a tiny period, a dot, a spot,
but now you grow.
A heartbeat drumming.
You live in my roomy womb,
and you listen to your brother and me
chatter and sing to you the way
one talks through a closed door.
You, invisible and mute,
but feel my hand on your warm wall.
A tiny movement.
Under my thin skin, you are
my blood, my flesh, my bone.
You are what’s happening
inside my miracle mountain.
I am sheepish and helpless
as you feel your way through the dark.
I smile, knowing one day
we will say hello.
Meanwhile, I don’t know
if tomorrow is winter
or Monday or June.
My child, for me it is a time
of waiting, embracing, sacrificing.
My body, everchanging—
first a tiny period, a dot, a spot,
but now you grow.
A heartbeat drumming.
You live in my roomy womb,
and you listen to your brother and me
chatter and sing to you the way
one talks through a closed door.
You, invisible and mute,
but feel my hand on your warm wall.
A tiny movement.
Under my thin skin, you are
my blood, my flesh, my bone.
You are what’s happening
inside my miracle mountain.
I am sheepish and helpless
as you feel your way through the dark.
I smile, knowing one day
we will say hello.
Meanwhile, I don’t know
if tomorrow is winter
or Monday or June.