She wears an all-at-once hat
(a cloud-colored, floppy, winged thing
that might flip up when it rains)
above an egg-shaped T-shirt:
white as a pair of newborn socks.
Just washed, tiny onesies
clean, unused
rest neatly in the dresser drawer next to the crib,
where a mobile waits to play music.
The brim shades her head and the baby in her belly
so she can decide on the perfect name
for the chubby toddler running around behind her closed lashes,
wearing a sailor suit and his grandfather’s eyes
Or maybe she’s already seen the Ultrasound
and pink ruffles fill the closet of a little girl
who will someday pull chocolates
out of an Easter egg basket full of make-believe grass.
A middle-aged woman at the grocery store smiles.
“When are you due?
You better rest while you still can.”
But she can’t imagine being more tired than she is right now.
At night, she wraps her arms around her stomach,
sings and hopes her baby can’t hear
how the air is chopped into pieces
by the helicopter circling the street,
gently pushes the little bulge of an elbow back inside her belly
Soon, there will be someone to tuck into bed…
picture books and birthday parties…
kindergarten… boys…
Please, God, don’t let this child do drugs.
Let her know she’s loved…
Make a way… prove that life is full of goodness…
Let the air be warmer in the morning than it was today
Her hat hangs on a nail next to the window
where rain falls off the eaves and onto the glass
before the sun comes out
turns into steam rising,
hovers like a baby’s breath
waiting for Tomorrow to be born
A Mexican-American poet residing in Fresno, CA, Kimberly Vargas Agnese loves walking barefoot and spending time outdoors. She believes that the sacred is as close as a human’s breath and enjoys playing the Native American flute. To read more of Kimberly’s work, please visit www.bucketsonabarefootbeach.com.