Peepshow

A friend has told me her daughter is pregnant

and she is looking forward to being a first-time grandmother. 

I wrote this poem for my first son who is now fifty-one years old.

 

I'd like a window in my womb

through which to watch this baby growing.

Minuscule creation, aquatic being

so many things I'd end up knowing.

Would I grow stoop-shouldered from inward peering.

Would I bare my navel to the world.

Would I spend my time in endless cheering

As I watched a miracle unfurled.