Not It
I hear my co-worker pick up the phone,
sigh and say, Still pregnant. So ready
to be done, which I think I understand.
Who wouldn't be done after nine months?
And don't think I'm sad I wasn't the one
who did the heavy lifting, worked the long
workout, ran the pregnancy marathon,
when my own kids were born. I'm not so
foolish as to wish for time at the extremes
of cruel and sticky biology. Who could
wish for that, having born witness, except
to know that at the end, you could never
have been more vital and never any closer?
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