Barefoot and Pregnant
I’ve been thinking a lot about the Annunciation lately, so I’ve decided to dust off an old poem I wrote when Charlotte was a baby. I hope you enjoy it, and I would welcome any criticisms! Really, I’d love to improve it, so any concrete suggestions will be very appreciated.
(But please don’t write “this is horrible” in the comment box. If it is horrible, at least tell me why.)
After the Annunciation
She must have thought something then,
alone again,
(water running heedless through her hair)
one hand pressed against her abdomen,
one against her mouth.
It would be wonderful to think her thoughts were joy,
pure gratitude,
radiating through her otherwise empty mind.
But there must have been panic…
at least a bit.
She would have been too good,
too faithful for such lowbrow thoughts like “shit…
What do I do now?”
No, she would have been humbled, felt gratitude,
her thoughts just edged with panic.
Human panic, whispering
“no one will believe me”
(as the water drips in waves off her hair)
“no one will listen.”
It may have been
Just then,
Walking through empty side streets
With the empty water jug,
Forgotten,
Banging against her untouched thigh…
It may have been then that,
Seized with all that it is to be woman,
She leaned over and heaved,
Holding her own wet hair out of her face
(her eyes streaming involuntary tears)
And perhaps she gave herself the liberty of one small sob.
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