We each
bake a cake.
Mine.
Precise ingredients.
Yours.
A snip of this
a snatch of that
a little what’s what!
“Trust me! ”
(you say)
“I know what I know! ”
Yours..rises
fluffy with delight!
Mine.
Refuses to rise
a hollow crown.
“Ah…did the big man’s cakeywakey
not risey! ”
You mock.
“You can eat
...mine! ”
You say in a Marie Antoinette way.
I am still despondent.
“Oh come here! ”
you comfort me
feeding me hot soft crumbly cake
from your mouth to mine.
you lead me up stairs
“Now, let’s see
about a bun
in the oven! ”
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/becoming-pregnant/
