She is far too optimistic so
I resent the pregnant woman
I share office space with
her round belly
containing the bright pink body of the
girl child she dreamt of
nights in her
high school bed
before she had been touched
before she had even touched herself
the baby girl created
like I was created in the eye of my mother’s
mind
behind her glossy skull
inside her brilliant intellect I
existed like a melon, like a ripe pear
like perfection
before my father arrived deposited
the other half of me deep inside her young body
my silly hearted mother imagined me as
brown eyed and clever
obedient and thin
the antithesis of her awkwardness and displeasure
in her young woman’s musing fantasies I began
now the pregnant girl
at twenty four years and nine months along
says pregnant woman words like
breast feed-water breaking-nipple-labor-contraction
and I know my mother carefully said these words before I arrived
before I was completed and
it turned out
I was not the pink bodied dream from her
hopeful ideals
that pregnant girl has no idea