• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 03
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Carrying the Mystery

We watch you toss and turn,
a hidden magic,
already anxious to join us and have a voice.
There is music to your dance in my belly.
Your future guitar strumming begins
with this primal rhythm in the womb.
The ocean wave movements
of tiny fists and feet inside me
mimic the depths of tub water,
undulating back and forth,
my daily, lukewarm to be safe, soaks.

A yellow duck I bought months ago
when the test came back with two,
beautiful blue lines, sits waiting, patiently,
just like us.

Your father reads a book to me about
the size of your growing fingernails,
as steam gently floats around us.
The mirage of our past hiking trip
appears at my pruned feet.
I daydream about tuna baguettes
with poppyseeds, our reward
for reaching the tarn and England’s brave sheep
at the top of a smaller mountain.


Carrying the Mystery

Carrying this mystery seemed like a myth
back then, like mermaids in caverns,
harbor seals combing their hair.
Birthing the selves of our third decade
does not compare to this marathon incubation.
My hands glide over the soapy contours
of my own mountainous stomach, feeling
every kick, hearing the melody of future songs.