Rising in the morning after fitful sleep
She straightens slowly, as if anchored
By her belly to the bed.

Again with child, perhaps her son at last, she bends
Like frail reeds to breeze,
Reaching for the orange juice, the vitamins, the energy.

Later standing in the shower’s pulsing stream
Fluid BBs sting swollen breasts, drum tight skin,
No more navel.

She leans, hands on knees, upstream,
Like the postman on the porch
Just waiting to deliver.