Mary speaks of how it feels when the baby turns
As if he’s a fish alive in the sea.
I am ocean.
As if he’s a hand stirring water and grain.
I am what will rise in time.
As if he’s a tongue rolling around honey and sour.
I am fruit.
As though a stormcloud boiled the sky.
I am sky.
As though a skin of wine sloshed in a servant’s arms.
I am servant.
He rolls beneath my husband’s hands as though he is curious,
as though he is leviathan near breaching the waters.
Still, I am sea.
As sprouts pushing against earth, toward sun.
I am field.
As though I had swallowed a bird, yet still it flies.