How I could see it so clearly, me and my
hot little bump, the tightness of my skin and
shirt, heartburn that never burned too hot,
no discomfort. Charging hormones which
would grow my hair long, more golden,
make my boobs like two glowing light
bulbs. As a young pregnant woman I would
have it all together. I would start writing
lists of wisdom: ‘men are embarrassing
when they want something — like window
wipers on full speed.’ Every day would
slowly pinken and I would crave only
delicious food; soba noodles, kimchi,
poached eggs in sage and fresh
strawberries. In the summer I would wear a
modern maternity one piece and float in the
green water of the Matata river, cool ice
down my back, not a bother in the world,
just me and my bump. Not a day would go
by without my hand over you.