In her stomach the baby would kick
to keep the beating of her heart.
There was no pill to flush him out.
The stomach, above her waist was filled,
with flesh to the brim and spirit anew.
They together are one.
What kindred spirits feel flesh can’t conceive -
this now I know.
Does he share with you a dream?
Prophetic is the blank canvas, open
to the picture of the evergreen pastures.
Still it beats, still he breathes, with such ease –
resting unassured of tomorrow,
habituate in the sanctum of the womb.
And you carry on…
Back heavy with burden,
hands worn from the toil of deceit;
yet not once a second thought.
Still I follow, blind,
in the shadow of your stride; your chest up,
face painted like a reflection of the happiness we knew,
bold, stronger than yesterday;
prepared for tomorrow,
welcome to the task that is to come.