You Staring at our Three Month Scan

You’re a wonder;

a sculpture, sprawled

on a doctor’s fawning sofa.

 

Your tummy bare

with our black and white heir

treading through a monitor

of shadows.

 

Our unschooled minds aghast

at a ghost with a heartbeat.

A dot, a pea, a locket of skin,

a secret growing into a name.

 

Today we are parents.

No longer forced like spies

to hush words,

halve sentences,

or deal in whispers

and sly kisses

to stretching skin.

 

For three months

you’ve carried our gift

wrapped in a safe sea.

You and he,

or she?

Your bump:

too bold, too brave to keep hushed.

So today we can tell the world.

 

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