The Women

We look to the mothers of mothers

to hold the weight of the memory

that death and birth are locked together

in the merciless gears that grind out life.

 

This child not yet

is not an equation to be calculated

but the alchemy of spirit and courage,

the tenacity of life that endures all struggle.

 

This small fleshy seed must first survive

the war zone of a mother’s body,

Find nourishment in the midst of commotion.

 

The girl so suddenly named mother must survive

the assault of this stranger entering through her

seemingly from another world.

 

Until finally, recognition.

You see yourself cradled against your breast,

alive with the gift of contradiction.

 

3-1-2022

Popcorn Belly

Popcorn flutters grow in my belly,

dance to the rhythm

of my breath, my blood, my movement;

you knock softly at first, waiting for an answer.

Soon, you will grow impatient

no longer satisfied with hearing shadows,

ever more insistent to see the world beyond.

You know without knowing,

the urgency of the journey

upon which you are about to embark.

I hold the breadth of my belly

as I feel you talking to me;

I dance to your tiny rhythm,

throw back my head, and laugh.

©1999 Donna Jo Wallace

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Poet's Note: Here's a little non-sequitur shared from the year that I was pregnant. I loved being pregnant. dw

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Rhymes With Orange

The humble orange holds no fear for me

Merely for lack of a rhyme.

I hold its juicy roundness joyfully

Plump and expectant in the hollow of my hand

Remembering

how I ate one faithfully each day

when I was expecting my own

I would dig in fearlessly - such a short lunch break

yet there was always time.

Others gave up smoking, drinking, or did baby yoga.

Having not much to give up, I ate an orange.

Every day, not for me

so much as for the small one Growing

expecting me already to do my best for her

Even if I didn’t always know what was best for me.

So bravely

I tell you about the orange

Even though I am a poet

In my own little free verse world

Knowing that it doesn’t rhyme and it’s okay.

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©2011 Donna Jo Wallace.