This waiting now is waiting for you to be born. I am waiting to hold you against me as I once did, tight and warm as you try to wriggle away, but I’m pinning down your arms.
I will never let you go! My teasing used to make you laugh.
Yesterday I saw you across the field. You were wearing a mask, pacing, anxious.
Come here! I called out. No, you told me. I don’t want to kill you.
Don’t be frightened. I need your help. I walked closer, faster, until I could see the flash of blue in your ponytail.
No! Your arms were wrapped against the cold. If I am no longer anxious, we might both die.
I didn’t want you to run away. Wait, I said. All we have to do is wait. It’s just a matter of time.
But I am waiting to be born, you argued. And you say, this is all I have to do, as if it’s nothing. As if I want to be here.
