Work is a year-long exam, and I only take time to study

in the course of dreams.  I deflect questions with clever answers.

 

I am a dormant hose; pressure fills and no one

will turn the small wheel in my chest.                                                

 

A quiet bean-sized being in my belly

makes me breathe, makes me calm.

 

The tender bloom of my breasts, open

soft churned ground, cracked skin, they twist in sleep.

The emergence of fingers and toes, a means

to investigate the textures of a watery home, a self.                                     

 

Inside the quiet, protective shell of my belly,
she learns to make a fist, practices her kick.

 

A gallop of tiny hooves, a small room

becomes your sound stadium; a first hello.                                                    

 

In the late night, and sunlight of lazy mornings,
we curl around you in our fetal positions.

 

Your daddy's gentle hand and soft kiss on my belly;
it is all for you.

 

He giggles at the roundness of me, this present of you

we both can't wait to open.