Progress Report

 

She will live inside me for three more months. Of this
I am certain: we are running on time. We are

progressing at the recommended rate. But she is still
so small, not even two pounds, and she lies completely

connected. There are days when I want to fill
her room with flowers and others when I want

destruction, and I wonder what she thinks, if she can
hear me. It’s hard to know where one ends and the other begins—

the femur, the head, the slow skin. Sometimes,
I think her heartbeat is mine, that the rumble

of hunger is somehow split in two: the louder
and then the smaller, the echo. An agreement that runs

through me like a tectonic plate: we are hungry, we will sleep.

 

 

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