All nine odd months of it.
A choice that was not yours
And sometimes, I think, not mine either.
You bullied my stomach into indigestion
And stretched the comely bones of my hips
You made me wear pretty maternity clothes
Ones that would have otherwise assaulted my sense of fashion
So tonight when you sleep all warm and soft
Safe in the crook of my arm,
I’ll be glad if you kept your elbows to yourself
And your rabbit-chasing feet still
My face isn’t for your chubby, butterfly-catching
Palms to slap into astounded wakefulness.
In the day time, when you leap on my back
Or torpedo your love into me
Spare my breasts and the skin on my face
From your happy mauling
Subjugate your ambitious knees
As they climb the hills of my soft thighs.
For tonight, child, just for a little while
I reclaim my body, this cup of your being
Battered, bruised and benevolent
With your unthinking, joyous love.
Jan 3, 2012