Ghazals for Connor

We work to create a portal, this night with morning on our heels;

a small door between us, we shimmy and pry open to invite a small stranger.

 

A question mark in my belly; a tightness of new living cells,

or indigestion?  I throw down a cord, a life line, hoping for a bite.

 

Do you want to write this story?

A pen spins on the floor, points at my pelvis.

Grandmother spoke to me in a dream:

sex before marriage is best.

 

I have never cared for basic math; loss and gain.

This small plus sign could mean everything.                                        

This growing, joyous ache; I feed from within,

count the emergent weeks and always in awe of you.

 

I gave life to a plant in the second grade, starting

with a small comma-shaped bean, learning all the parts.                               

 

Now I water my own, see every line in your paper-thin skin.

My breasts throb with this knowing, this sweet tree sap forming for you.

 

Evening never comes quickly, morning always arrives too soon.

I pause, expanding, waiting for stars to form.

 

I stretch myself into a bow, ready to shoot; my backside

praying to something.