She says,
Taking mine in her two
Can you feel it?
The pulse of her thumb
Coolness of her skin
My heartbeat thunders
Our breath mingles
Not yet.
Too early
I do not feel what she
feels
Pulse of movement
Tiny yet
It’s the size of a
walnut now
She tells me
I sigh
Wishful of her belly
Startled
The Crows take flight
One looks intently
towards me
I shiver with
unconscious superstition
Shaking the thought
away
Till it returns
unwanted
Not a week later
Deep breath
Slow
Holding you
Counting the breath
Guiding you through the
pain
Breathe
Laboring
Towards an end
Only
These breathes harbor
death
I sigh remorseful
Grieving for her belly
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Vicki Hudson lives in Northern California with her spouse and their two daughters. She holds a Master of Fine Arts from Saint Mary’s College of California in creative writing with focus on non-fiction writing. In 2007, she was a Fellow at the inaugural Lambda Literary Emerging Writers Retreat. Follow her life and literary musings on Twitter @vickigeist or publication news @vicki_hudson. She blogs about home, parenting, urban farming, food, and more at http://www.
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Vicki Hudson lives in Northern California with her spouse and their two daughters. She holds a Master of Fine Arts from Saint Mary’s College of California in creative writing with focus on non-fiction writing. In 2007, she was a Fellow at the inaugural Lambda Literary Emerging Writers Retreat. Follow her life and literary musings on Twitter @vickigeist or publication news @vicki_hudson. She blogs about home, parenting, urban farming, food, and more at http://www.
Bay Laurel / Volume 1, Issue 2 / Winter 2012