Irene and Me
Janine Canan
I'm waiting patiently
for an immaculate conception--
though I found out long ago,
though I found out the moment I met light,
there are no immaculate conceptions.
And yet there's Irene
in her neat plaid wool skirt, a red
or blue blouse, a perfectly drawn line on each lid--
her glasses never tilt, her smile never fails,
and when she's finished, she leaves.
And though she's childless--
how could a child fit in that slim skirt--
she conceives herself immaculately each day,
a warm new baby with clean baby skin
and eager baby feet.
But I'm waiting and waiting for the day
when I arrive on time, scrubbed
and dressed the way I looked the day before,
knowing tomorrow no birth pangs, no blood,
only the me I conceived.
