First Trimester

An ode to morning sickness

Hello, Beloveds. I’m continuing to share some Advent poems my holy ghost writer Tania and I wrote for Rabbit Room last year. With much love and gratitude to the good people there, here is “First Trimester.”

And yes, Tania wrote this one from experience.

Image by Florenz Villegas from Pixabay

I’m a jellyfish of multiplying cells 
dangling from every jot and tittle 
of the world. You, pallid mother, 

slouch against the wall 
with your head on your knees,
your body warring with a fig–sized 

enemy. You shudder at even 
the mention of the sea: 
putrid wind, undulating murk 

and fin. A whiff of Dad’s carp 
sends you retching. Other times, 
you nod off, suddenly snoring

in the middle of sorting lentils 
or scrubbing a tunic against the rocks.
Cousin John leapt in the womb

when he met me. To you, it seems 
I’ve already worn out my welcome. 
I’m sorry to do this to you, Mother, 

sorry to all women everywhere. 
It’s part of my design, this sickness, 
a stay against overwork and pumping 

poisons to the heart. Verily, 
you won’t feel like death forever. 
Blessed are you among women, right?

Right?