nine months

by Roseanne Freed


nine months since you left us, in my grief
I surrender to junk food and an evening
glass of wine with chips.

                                    such excitement to watch you grow
                                    inside me, to feel you moving about
                                    first as little flutters like a mouse, 

I know the wine is a crutch,
but it’s just one glass and I need it.
Like I need coffee in the morning.

                                    later when a hand or foot 
                                    punched out my belly,
                                    Pa and I shared tears of happy,

I’m thankful for the corona virus fashion
of pants with elastic waists to hide
the pandemic pounds on my bum and belly.

                                    I played classical music
                                    to my welcome guest, ate healthy, 
                                    did yoga, swam twice a week at the Y,

You also loved swimming.
My daily swims in our pool
helps my sad.

                                    I discovered unconditional love
                                    at your birth, and such nachas
                                    as you grew fat from my breast.                    

Your spouse gave me your favorite sweater.
Wearing it doesn’t comfort me—
it just reminds me how wrong this is.


* * * * *

Poet Roseanne Freed was born in South Africa and now lives in Los Angeles. She loves hiking and shares her fascination for the natural world by leading school children on hikes in the Santa Monica Mountains. Her poetry has been published in Contrary Magazine, Verse-Virtual, ONE ART and Blue Heron Review.