Another roundness wedged within.

My husband shoves his stubbled face

Rasping and bad breathing my *******.

I pull away before he wakes.

My body has a new smell;

My hands and feet are walls mortared with ice.

I don’t need to move my lips

To speak to my unborn.

I feel and hear him,

Restless like an old man,

Misplacing books and forgetting to turn out the light.

A woman’s body is a man’s house.

They throw their clothes everywhere,

Slamming the door when they leave.