awake

Now that you are 4 months inside me
I wake each night at 4 am like clockwork
to a struggle in the belly.
Nothing calms it, nothing
soothes me back to sleep
and now I feel your flip, flip
like heavy little rocks in a tumbler.

Tonight I went to the kitchen
for two pieces of toast
and I swear I saw writing
on the kitchen wall, it spelled
death, miscarriage,
lost.

Of course, all these months,
anxiety gripping my gut,
I have wanted you so badly
my fear hides deep in this body
like a parasite nothing can cure.

I think of Jenn, her baby dead
Melissa, her baby dead
Ranee, her baby dead
and my heart screams with fear.
It seems just knowing that babies die
keeps me up at night. I wonder, why else
would I know so many women
whose baby spirits circle them?
Unless I might lose you?