Danielle Hines

You have no home in my belly, though I often rest my hands there,
Willing you to take up space within that hollow bowl of my pelvis.
Wishing to feel the weight of you,
To have those tiny kicks of life.
Wanting your small feet and hands to propel my body forward to a world of possibility.
A longing made material.

No, that is not where you reside.
You sit on my tongue, settling into the crevices of my jaw.
Your name catching at the back of my throat.
I speak you into being – this is the only life source I can give you.
The breaths I take in and out as I talk to you.

When I tell you life could have been something, maybe I am lying.
Life starts lower in the body,
And I can only push yours so far down –
From my head, to my lips, to the resting place in my chest.
Hand over heart, no lower.