Facing It
after Yusef Komunyaaka
I look into the bulge of my wife's belly:
there is no reflection, though there is one
inside: this pregnancy, this moon
with face and arms and kicking
in it, shifts me. I cannot
let it go: it shifts me. I turn--
I am contained. I turn once more--
still contained. I am flesh. Inside is flesh.
My wife brushes her hair back,
licks the tips of her mouth
and her eyes are stone fires, golden
brown. She is my teacher, she shows
me how to hold myself, to hold
the belly. How we hold each other
like leaf in wind. How we
need to clasp against the other
to prop us up when one
chooses to fall.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment