Wednesday, May 18, 2011

40 Weeks

40 weeks today! Due date day. As you can see, we are still waiting, but this little bun is fully cooked. Hopefully this will be my last belly photo updated. I'm hoping that by this time next week we'll have a sweet baby girl in our arms.

“You’re” by Sylvia Plath (1960)

Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo’s mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools’ Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

1 comment:

  1. I love the "O high-riser, my little loaf" line.

    Also you. And Eleanor. I love you both, too. Andrew is also ok.