Pregnant

How far along am I?
Hmmmm, I’m not really sure.
Can’t seem to recall
The exact moment the
Fertilized thought took root,
Anchoring in my womb.
Which one are you talking about? 

Was it 10 years ago…
Wait, no….
How about last night,
In three weeks?
The day after tomorrow?

If only I were pregnant
like this every day.
I’d pay good money
just for that. Really.
I’m not joking.

I’m not crazy.
I’m not showing.
I’m not moody.
I’m just growing
larger and larger,
expanding horizons,
if you will….

I don’t have morning sickness,
not like you think,
not yet, not really. 
I get poetic poisoning
when I take too long to
float, to think, to center,
to write all the flutterings down
The pieces try to drown me,

Weighing down my heart,
swelling with the full
force of feeling enlightened
tickling the walls of my mind….
Kicking me softly into here and now,
Rubbing my tummy absently,
Humming lullabies to the
creative little cooings inside,
open me wide to the
sound of my soul
makes me whole again

Can’t cradle my little ones,
not yet, my darlings,
not with my hands just yet. 
Leaves me upset,
Unfulfilled, unmade.
Tears gradually fade when
Spirit whispers to me,
“Soon, when we’re ready,
when it’s time.”

(How much time do we need?)

Funny, I don’t get swollen ankles,
just swollen veins, pumping,
gushing, flowing those hot,
thick, tangy passions,
into something new,
but messy. 
Bold, not safe,
but feeling true,
feeling me, feel that
seed growing now every time
my mind wanders, lingers
on the possible words,
the rich flavors of ideas
tingle, mingle, swirl,
forming fresh meat,
digging deep as
my poor heart will go.

There’s only so much
space that’s inside,
when I feel full,
stretched tight like there’s
no room to grow,
Just when I want to
say “No more,
I can’t breathe, I
can’t take anymore!”

I’m on sensory and
mental overload.

I need to be on
creative bed rest
when linguistic contractions
buck me out
of daily life,
doubling me over,
giving way to sharp,
sudden shudders
of knowing that
the end’s right on
the tip of my tongue,
pushing, tearing,
crowning out
the realization of
one
more
poem.

Shaking, quivering,
sweating, smiling,
cradling, reveling,
Savoring that you’re mine. 
All mine.  Really. 
Part of me.

“Congratulations,
It’s a…JOY.”

A joy worth repeating.
And sharing.
Over and over again.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
September 21, 2010


Comments

  1. Maryanne KingsfordSeptember 21, 2010 at 10:55 AM

    Woah, thats intense CC!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Eliza Jane Farley GomezSeptember 21, 2010 at 12:50 PM

    Awww, shucks, thanks, M!!!! :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. SarahSeptember 21, 2010 at 12:52 PM

    That's beautiful. I love the analogies. You are quite the writer. Thank you for sharing.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

OK, y'all have been kind enough to "hear me out"& n stuff, so let me know whatcha think, if I've rattled yer cage, voiced a shared thought or concern, or if you're gonna attain Enlightenment upon reading these DEEP THOUGHTS, or if ya think I'm just plumb WACKO--but please be decent in your expression of your sentiments, there's no need to sling mud, unless we're in POTTERY CLASS or at the BEACH! Thanks for reading n stuff...Laters!

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