Obsession I

Posted by in Motherhood Project, Poetry, Writing

I have given up the hope
You see
Or fear, perhaps
Of being with-child
From our last encounter
That is
Not for forever
As I do hope
Expect even
That I
We will
Strange to say
But my mother
She laughed
And said hysterical
But she was full of hope
Near certainty
Mothers are masters of wishful thinking

And it was the many things
Skewed with some hope or fear
I say or, could be and,
I can’t say
But for years I’ve felt a child’s quickening
echos of fond memories
(Yes, I’ll admit
the mind is a powerful thing)
And as of late
I’ve prayed and prayed
How I wanted the sensation to take shape
With a tie to you

or no
that’s too romantic

Wanted the sensation
of wonder
to be justified

And then there was the tenderness
I watched my breasts grow
Filling the full cup of my hand
I called it an aqueous landscape
Before I even knew the word:

And there is more
to swell and gorge
There is a blossom blooming
Dark plum rouge
And its milky sap
Spilling out

It is the uncertain growth of my thighs
And the gut
that’s bloated up
without reason
This morning I sat on the bus
Eating clich├ęs
Then paused
As if id just realized
How disgusting
And yet beautiful it was
Ah, wishful thinking
Crunched slurped
And I never looked up
because I knew
they were watching me

I had somehow willed some test positive
Perhaps with unreasonable hope
Or that horrified fear
Was momentarily consumed
(just as I may be about organizing my shoes
or planning the layout for our kitchen someday)
Drove myself into terrified delirium

You couldn’t understand
Our kind
We’re a bit crazy
In the moment
it was real for me
That has not yet ceased

And I realized the importance of writing
A poem called obsession
But was driven

to write this.