My baby comes at end of July
when the berries are ripe and
the sun hangs highest in the sky
and just like the berries on the bush
my body swells
'til my toes disappear
She or he (who knows?)
comes in the desperate heat
and I cannot help but wish that
they had chosen some other time
that I could burrow away
under sheets all winter long
and welcome baby in spring
But no, baby must come
at peak of harvest time
when the cherries and beans and
watermelons are being picked
by tired farmer hands
And baby keeps me up at night
reminding me of the soon arrival
"But we have bags to pack and
floors to sweep
and meals to freeze
and time to sleep!"
But no,
Baby insists
"I must come at the
ripening of the trees."
