IN LABOR

Coffee-spoon
days spent
in waiting

in wandering

this nomadic
path, a Bedouin
of the modern
age, encircling

Am I in labor

or in heat?

the grapefruit
flesh of my
waist, ripe

I have waited
I have…

as if the world
could feed me

everything

and they say that
those who labor…

This longing
inarticulate
like the bow
of your mouth

while you dream

you slip away
and into me

as I murmur
cry, something
guttural and wild

And when I wake,
my nightmares
stifled in the
morning dew—

your eyes

O, oooh…

You ask me
how I slept,
and I wish
it were well

I occupy
the now

in all of my
yearnings
besieged

Wondering
how did I
get here?

and I know
that I shall
inherit the
earth, but…

the ache in
my gut is

begging

for a meal
ticket or just
a space to hold

my labor
incomplete

I will get there
I will…