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all the birds flew south for the winter

there is a small square gray room inside the place where pigeons conversate and misty morning trees whisper last summer's green skirt graveyard painting. my hair wild, my body unencumbered. i miss it.

they knock and enter every two hours, every two hours no break even in the middle of the night. foggy explanations and stone re-closing eyelids...your temperature, change your iv, blood pressure, baby’s heartbeat, need anything?

Need anything?

Need anything?


Well…actually could you cryogenically freeze me until I give birth so I can relinquish my heretofore known “joys” of pregnancy and be catapulted straight into the bliss of up all night with a screaming mass of flesh? No really, just kidding constance – mommy’s a little shot up with antibiotics right now. We’ll be feeling better before you can say mastosis.

Macrobid projecting vertigo pictures in my eyelids they flutter open and closed. Change the channel. Change it. Change it.

Moonlit excursions to the silvery lovemaking beach exchanged this spring for the seventh cold feet trip to grey tile bathroom, white plastic bags in hand and their tubing – another infiltration. Fluorescent mirror the benchmark my dear of the last day you will recognize yourself. At least my elbows haven’t changed. They will be my compass rose.

The dark and cold encroach and I feel welcomed by clean sheets even if they are hospital issue my feet nudge gently the end board wish for his and I shudder to sleep. Step into that sunlit room of five hundred I have known but do not recognize. We are watching cartoons. My heart is lighter than childhood.

We are all laughing.

There is a small square gray room inside the place where the pigeons conversate and misty morning trees whisper last summer’s green skirt graveyard painting. My hair a mess and I a single grain of salt in a universe of alone. That was yesterday.

It is always too much too soon. That’s the nature of the universe. Lily Tomlin five hundred feet from ground crouches wildly at the pane taking notes in steel grey heels.

Have you ever transcended space and time? Or had a change of soul in eight hours destined to change back but not to be taken for granted. Constance kicks and nestles endearingly and I sing to her – I am not so changed as I think pear shaped belly and everything is fleeting. My mind whole and white and glowing unangry pure acceptance I love even the dust bunny on the floor here hug the radiator. Slipping mad down this mudslide and laughing all is as it should be and the pigeons agree.

8:14 p.m. - 2006-03-26
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