by Gabriella Belfiglio
Seven months encircling the joyfulwonder of you, and now this pull—this grave emptinessfollows, possessesme, bowls me down, twists me upa whorled gust. A violent wave, a frothing foam.I am rabid, no one dareapproach. I am foreverwith you, thorny child.My wild girl who lives in the air we breathe. Forgiveme for not carrying you safely into the world. If I could undothat moment, I would be a god.But no, I am mortal—your mother.