A Contemplation

My body is no longer my own. It contains a
sprout like a fiddlehead fern frond, curled
inward on itself.

Microscopic cells mystically multiply
with fervor, their intention known only
to themselves.

While I breathe, while I sleep, whether
I churn like a river or remain a placid lake,
this body has

It’s own mission. Summer is coming.

Explore posts in the same categories: Aenigmas (My Poems), Humanities, Journal, Motherhood, Nature, Poetry, Pregnancy

Comments are closed.