Juanita Rey
Another morning
but still no baby.
Everything is as expected
from the alarm clock
to the sun,
but her belly, stuck on its axis,
can’t tell the time.
SPACE
The phone rings.
“Has it happened yet?”
If the voice on the other end
means nerve ends unraveling,
then yes, it’s happened.
SPACE
The face in the mirror
is as feminine as hers.
But I feel like a husband.
We’re roommates.
According to the doctor,
the baby’s healthy.
SPACE
The kid’s overdue.
Same as the bills.
Same as a word from her parents.
SPACE
We’re behind on the rent.
Her folks claim to have no daughter.
But she will.
Only the father is stillborn.
SPACE