meditations during late pregnancy

this won't last forever, though it feels like it right now. 

but they tell me it won't last forever. 

pregnancy has to end sometime

(although the third trimester feels like years). 

i think about female elephants

and how they are pregnant for about two years 

and i don't know how any being could do that

(and yet, these last months feel like years). 

[all pictures by Karyn and Jacob Tucker]

when i was an undergrad at byu,

one of my professors

(a woman teaching british modernism) 

mentioned that the time her body 

had been commented on the most 

was when she was pregnant. 

being pregnant during the pandemic 

(my own kind of "confinement," i suppose) 

i have not been out in public as often as 

i would have in regular times. 

thus, there haven't been as many comments on my body. 

but these past two weeks

as i've gone to the library of congress--

either walking on cooler days, 

or taking the metro when it's much too hot 

for anyone (let alone pregnant women) 

to be out and about--

i have heard the comments. 

some of them are welcome, 

some are not. 

the pregnant body is a spectacle, 

i suppose. 

normal, and yet, not normal. 

two bodies in one. 

four hands 

four feet 

two pairs of lungs. 

i breathe for both of us. 

being pregnant 

giving birth 

is both universal 

and individual. 

but it is an experience

everyone seems to have an opinion on

(some opinions are welcome, 

some are not). 

but here, this is my body. 

(stretched, aching, and unfamiliar

to me, it still gives life).  

and yes, this was my choice

(and an act of faith, 

my hope for the future--

not just mine, but for the world). 

i give and i receive, 

i hold and i believe. 

and when i am very still

i watch for his movements 

across my belly 

like shooting stars across 

a darkened sky.