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Wednesday, August 14, 2013

11 Weeks

A fig, absurdly fragile, fills my womb,
Turning flips and lunging eagerly
Towards a future flecked with loves and loons,
Meals, decisions – Tiny fig! Already

Stuffed with significance, wrapped in hopes.
Daily we scurry to keep you whole,
Warding off salmonella, caffeine, smoke,
We flinch when the neighbors o’er-spill their walls

With foul words and love grown murderous;
Clapping our hands on you, forming child,
We entrust you to God again, and pray this:
May your delights be pure, your own hopes wild;

May a thousand chords of kindness trump your hurts;

May you roar out, so strengthened, and bless this earth!

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