Thirty-Five

Oh what a year—
Womb longing
Will I be…

One of those women
Who…
Won’t

Sometimes,
Now,
I think so—

Maybe...
It’s just my ego anyway.

Desire lingers,
I feel the swelling
Belly stirring...
pooling with life

I feel the
Unbearable pain
The pushing
And the pain—
And the pushing.

Girth opening
The baby crying—
The swaddling
The suckling
Nourishing...

How do I reckon this empty nest?

2000, wlg