but on you it sits heavy
pulling the jowls of your face
into a mournful caricature
and swelling your large hands
into overripe fruit, close to bursting
Your belly does not sway with your thickened thighs
but sags like concrete on a muddy hill.
When you lift your feet
it is a reluctant charge, a duty preferred forgotten
and your mouth lays closed
lays like the earth under snow that will not melt
We are both pregnant
but you have slept through the dark
and seem to carry only despair.
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