As she approaches motherhood her back becomes an archway.
The primal sounds vacillate in your ears between pleasure and pain.

Screaming. Moaning. Screaming. Moaning.

Birth of her, birth of both.
You grasp frantic arms needing foundation.
She is an earthquake building a world.

Shaking. Sweating. Heaving. Lurching.

She is a temple now, focused and still.
Her skin radiates off your hand the way a sunburn feels.
Pulsing hot breath and waves squeezing through her.
You can imagine the cocoon inside her squirming as the butterfly pushes out.

The ocean flows out of her.
The room breathes for the first time like it too was under water.
You are pummeled with a tidal wave of joy.
This is how beginnings feel.

June 12th 2020
Amanda Powell