Eight months and, surprisingly,
nothing has been ruptured,
twisted into a knot, shredded.
The body has survived
even as the child takes over.
There’s been pain, cramping,
an overall strangeness
as if my insides and I
were no longer in synch.
But no hemorrhaging.
No overloaded heartbeat.
There’s been a kick or two
but nothing beyond that.
The baby makes no demands.
There’ll be time enough for that
from all I hear.
Yes, it does feel like a sickness.
But not a dying.
And no cure is necessary.
But I’ll take it when it comes.
Author Bio:
Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.
nothing has been ruptured,
twisted into a knot, shredded.
The body has survived
even as the child takes over.
There’s been pain, cramping,
an overall strangeness
as if my insides and I
were no longer in synch.
But no hemorrhaging.
No overloaded heartbeat.
There’s been a kick or two
but nothing beyond that.
The baby makes no demands.
There’ll be time enough for that
from all I hear.
Yes, it does feel like a sickness.
But not a dying.
And no cure is necessary.
But I’ll take it when it comes.
Author Bio:
Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.
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