14 April 2010
I must have something to say.
Seems unlikely that the well has
dried up like the skin of my very pregnant abdomen.
But none of the images work. None of the words
come together like they used to, and I can't
force them to make sense to anyone but me.
Unpoetic, but necessary. Life continues
in it's very earthy vein: breathless, sleepless,
swollen and uncomfortable,
but amazing in a way that lacks art, though not beauty.
It is a truly lovely thing to carry your baby.
It's just not very poetic.