My Mother’s Hands

My mother’s hands are bumpy. They are a sort of taupe color. She wears a chunky blue ring. She wears a sapphire wedding ring. Because she lost her diamond nearly a decade ago. My mother’s hands show some age, tell some stories. They are not perfect. Neither is she. Her pinky on her left hand…

Welcoming My Precious Intruder

Pregnancy is a strange sicknessWith a promised finale of utter pain followed by overwhelming joyBut for many months that growing fetus infects youThis living wondrous thing takes residence in a bodyVery unfamiliar with foreign, living occupantsThe host can have moments of being rather perturbedBy the intensity with whichThis seed takes root and ripples through the…