approaching her sixth month
eugene gryniewicz
The perfect disguise wears a baby in her belly,
swelling to fit the part, holding her part adjusting
strings and wires and straps. She walks
awkwardly across the room; her legs bow.
Her fingers reaching to steady herself,
she sits. Sleeps. Refuses to hold
her meals. At night, she daubs her breasts with
brown powder to make the nipples stand up, looking
full. She exercises muscle contractions
to make her belly jump and writhe. I sleep.
She runs across the lawns, naked, slender, beneath the moon.
