The conception was a chore but
there were fireworks the night his minuscule doubling
numbers were captured by my uterine wall.
Tired of painting over the old dirty terracotta
curtains still days from their rails.
I watched bursts of ancient science
jewel the tight face of the black Tay,
and heard the crackles
like tide pulling through pebbles.
I knew his names long before
I found him watching me sleeping
from his aching elongated head.
First published by WomenWords Sunrise Over Manchu Picchu
Sunrise Over Machu Picchu: A Collection of Women's Voices