Surprise! Your body made a baby.
You’re a god-blest god-damn 3-D printer
With no instruction manual.
This is the oldest profession,
This motherhood thing,
So we’re all experts.
We assume you know what’s coming for you:
What is digging into your shoulders already:
The taste of the helpless mortality you face,
Near-death to bring forth life,
The confusion of fine lashes and soft nails
That come into the light screaming angry;
And then the screams that haunt you,
As the breaths stick close to your neck;
How your brain is lost in your body
And your self is lost without sleep
And your heart is bottled up with terror
And love. Oh love. Selfish love, to keep moving your feet,
Else you’ll crumble into ash.
Selfless love, roaring up and burning when you hear a name,
See a moment, speak a sorrow.
How love hurts.
They say it heals, they say time heals –
But we’re all scrambling just to catch up, fondly
“Savoring each moment” in our rosy rear view mirror
As the next wave bears down, bears down,
Crushing and stinging,
Always churning away your footing,
You’re pregnant again.