from morning until night, what remains is what has always been. there is coffee and white yogurt with granola, honey and sliced strawberries that leak their always-perfect berry blood. there are four growing limbs shuffling down sea-ship stairs, with warm morning breath and hair like garlic scapes. there is a sexy man, my beautiful man, eyes closed and graying, on the piano. the walls inside this home of white and black are roaring with life. i walk down the street to where we had parked our car and i can hear a brother calling for his sister upstairs. the bikes in the front are tangled into each other from a ride after lunch. warm, dirty, alive with childhood.
my half-moon belly is pushing inches from the waist of my skirts that used to button. one zipper on the side remains unzipped, tucked under, and still worn. maybe a month longer, maybe less. this belly is full and ripening. like buckets of summer cherries, like thick milk swelling into whipped cream. my mom asks for pictures of her growing third granddaughter. a shy pose with a cheesy grin is what she always receives. it is not easy photographing miracles. it is not easy always documenting heaven's currency.
she rests on the contours of my sciatic nerve and sometimes i am stuck in place for minutes that feel like hours. steve helps adjust me, running up to where i've paused. he rubs my lower back, both gently and firmly (like in everything), holding me in place, massaging my tailbone down into the back of my knees. he whispers in my ears and his beard sends chills down my sides. now, more than ever. his touch is a magic rose. it brings me back, every time. or rather: he does.
fiorella keeps running through the mud room to where i sit at the laptop asking me to lift her into the loquat tree that dips into our yard. i can hear steve on his new saw and gus asking for help moving his wine barrel of strawberries. an hour earlier, the carrier dropped off the first item we ordered for our baby girl, a floral sleeper made for a body so small.
the sun has come out and she's calling me.
(another day at home, with them. another beautiful rainbow underwater)