Her belly parts the air ahead, A balloon of hope before, The blunt prow of a schooner, Parting the waters of desire-- Her right of passage, proof of Prowess, rank, fertility. Within, swaddled in dreams, Conjured by her craving--by The years of swallowed sighs, Bubbled syrup, candied tears, fire- Baked sweets, ice-churned creams and Oft chewed remorse--her child curls She walks serene. Her hand, held In the gathered folds of her dress, Finger thrums, secret caresses Upon the drum-taught surface Of this vessel of longing with A furtive, murmured blessing. She broods, chews her lips as memories Intrude of blame and desperate shame, Many moons with scarlet stains When waning hope, just containing Hiccups of regurgitated Guilt re-swallowed, was harpooned. She lifts her chin, with firm resolve, Refusing to re-member that dread And thereby to keep it fed. For, as certain as blood is red, She will have her labor day, Delivering of herself pure joy.