Word of caution

Veins on the backs of my hands grow darker, ink-blue 
remind me there is a child inside this body, 
prehuman, growing, a manifestation 
of what we intended;
tiny prisoner waiting for dawn. 

No small ideal goes unbound; 
the miracle of you remains a miracle, 
and a deterrent to those who may be frightened 
by your tiny fingernails, your inevitable need, 
the cheerful shadow 
you cast across possibility. 

Children are a choice you cannot undo, 
a truth that cleaves itself to me unexpected
as I draw us both through rough waters, 
see the landscape rise up to fight us.

I can deny you no thoughts now, 
only try to comfort us both with words.

© Anita Dolman