
I started writing this poem when my older daughter, now nine, turned one month old (hence "Monthling"). The poem marinated for a LONG time - and I finally completed it for my younger daughter's second birthday. The sentiments expressed are mishmashed between these two girls... This posting is the date of my younger daughter's birthday.
(This poem first appeared in Voices Israel 2015.)
Monthling
at one month you were tiny
a silent speck in the gray light and dark graininess
of the ultrasound
indistinguishable
from all other sprinkles in the speckled galaxy
of my womb
I wanted you to be a girl speck
right there in the blurred organic moonscape
of my womb
I had visions of ruffled pink gingham and glitter
at four months you were rounded and shadowy
a piebald balloon stick figure
your parts waxing and waning as
you jerked away from the probe. I could see
your alien head haloed in white
your puppet leg floating bodiless, bloodless
miniature bones shaping a miniature human
at eight months you were enormous
filling the screen with dappled shades
of gray and white and black
hazy and stark white ridgy rib cage
inside a cavernous dark ball
filling the room with the insistent mechanical whoosh
of your heartbeat
there was no fear, there was no joy, there was no me.
there was only you
at one month you were tiny
your gossamer breath fluttering the butterfly wings
on my arm hairs. Every night I sneaked out of my marriage bed
to hold my breath, to watch your pink rib cage rise and fall
ebb and flow, to inhale the downy silk of your nape
to smell your milky almond mouth and feel the warm damp heft of your bottom
to listen for the mewling that always came right before
you needed me
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This poem is included in my chapbook from Finishing Line Press.
You can order the book on Amazon.com or here:
Windows and a Looking Glass by Deborah Kahan Kolb