Lovesong

by Heather Carnaghan

Some women
loath the girth
of their newly pregnant bodies.

Not me.

I loved my curves.
Full and round,
I strutted, head high,
in dresses so tight
that they hugged
my hips
and showed your kicks.

Those kicks were our secret,
you hid most from daddy,
but I knew you through them.
The tiny elbows in my ribcage
were a constant love song
that grew stronger
over our nine month romance.

The rhythms and harmonies,
those eager heartbeats
and hiccups,
sang of firsts steps and parades,
of treasure hunts and birthday cakes.  


When the scan
turned you from it
to a she
the key changed somehow.
Our song was of tea parties and scraped knees,
of adventures and girl scouts.
A sweet refrain played in my head
of touching my daughter’s
confidently clothed belly,
swollen with a lovesong of her own.

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