Mother Psalm 3
(a psalm of anticipation) Raise your legs, then let them fall again and again as though you knew turning over is just a twist and roll away. Do you remember somersaults in the warm recesses of the womb, suspended weightless like an astronaut on his tether? Sometimes you kick for long minutes without stopping, now as then, though the sensation is lost to me except in the dreams I visit between feedings. A few warm days and suddenly the icebound troughs of winter are as implausible as pregnancy. The birches go first, and the willows a haze of green and gold on the verge of...
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