Y: Motherhood

She touches her swollen belly with a finger,
Slides it down,
Over a missing indentation she barely remembers,
Smoothes as if smoothing tiny fingers;
Soon, she whispers, soon
I'll see you soon, and you'll be beautiful
And I'll hold you tight as a butterfly snuggled in the silky
cocoon
Of my arms.

(There comes a day we all wish we could start again
Perfect mothers with perfect innocent children
I don't want a cuckoo child, though)

Then there's a movement like wingtips fluttering
Against her hand
And there's a warm sensation in her cheeks
Feeling flattered as if in the presence of an angel
Perhaps she is, indeed,
One photo snap of a moment with her unborn child
Whispering into her skin
Soon, she whispers, soon

(This is how it was always meant to be
Believe in what you can't comprehend
But there's something there after all)

She moves her fingers in light motion around the swell
And smiles to the sun
Like an opening flower kissing beams of light
A bee hums like a cat purring
She squishes her toes into a ball and then releases them
Stretching underneath the sky

(Is this perfection?)