"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn't boring." Zelda Fitzgerald

Monday, May 10, 2010

Pregnant Poetry

 In honor of no longer fitting my wedding ring and being right down to a single pair of shoes (unless you count the flip-flops!), I'm sharing a pregnancy poem with all of you. A little snapshot of how I feel these days. Nothing very carefully crafted...just an off the cuff poetic moment. Bear with me, grammar mavens...I know I irk you plenty.

But, yes, we're still waiting and while I wait, I'll wear this vintage charmer which is likely just cut glass or at the very most glamorous, a cubic zirconium. Who knows. Its an elegant setting and it conveys the message which is the point. My real ring will just have to sit, tucked into a satin pocket, waiting like the rest of us.

 Third Trimester Song
I do the limbo all day, swaybacked, heels spread
Carrying my bowling ball with me wherever I go
Conversations are foggy, as I am
Distracted by tiny hands swirling by the
Small hidden face in my midsection
I am the crocodile in Peter Pan
Reappearing on stage left from time to time
Ticking along to the rhythm of someone else's hiccups
Foot-in-ribs, carry on: conversation, laundry
And a jab to the interior hip bone for bonus points!
I sit with you on my lap, bend over your round form
Doing headstands between my pelvic bones
Yesterday I stood up quickly and heard the
Splash of my inner pool, sploosh!
An auditory post-it-note..."Contains Liquids"
Sunday mornings I mirror gaze endlessly
By accident I have become the pumpkin coach
But I'm still expected at the 10am mass, in elegant garb
I lie at night and wait for Ready, hoping for a peaceful click
I want Ready to arrive, with "clean house" in one hand,
And "peaceful birth vibes" on the other open arm
Last night I dreamed I was hugging someone:
A whole kind body, no vague collarbone tap touch
I have fantasies about kissing tiny, round fingertips,
Seeing the face those hands swirl around and
Mouthing the right name into that peachy, curling ear.
Then I will take, only me, into the shower for a long soak
Nobody in my skin but my own lungs...not even ticking a little bit.


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