“A woman who is pregnant for the first time or who has borne just one child.” – Webster’s New World Dictionary.
If I had had twins, I would have eaten one,
like a smart-assed rabbit only
half-convinced the grass was gone.
If I had had twins, I would have cracked
a beatific smile. “Thanks,”
“but no.” And primly given it/them back.
If I had had twins, I would have tucked
them under my arms like footballs or small perfect
hand-grenades aimed at my breasts: fuck.
If I had had twins, I would have mothered
mortal enemies whose attacks each on the other
would have started in the womb. My belly a ring-side seat.
And me the usher.
* * *
I'm sure sure if this is my last pregnancy/mothering-a-newborn poem or not, given that the girl turned four this week.
And even though this one is nutty, I'm glad I'm once again processing the world-as-poetry instead of just receiving it as it is...
...which seems to be mostly repairs and other forms of maintenance. Muggy days where you snap at each other. Several consecutive days of rain.
(If you have twins, I'm glad for you and kind of awed that you made it through. Which is to say, no offence...or at least no more than usual.)