Becoming Pregnant Poem by Dónall Dempsey

We each
bake a cake.

Mine.
Precise ingredients.

Yours.
A snip of this
a snatch of that
a little what’s what!

“Trust me! ”
(you say)
“I know what I know! ”

Yours..rises
fluffy with delight!

Mine.
Refuses to rise
a hollow crown.

“Ah…did the big man’s cakeywakey
not risey! ”

You mock.

“You can eat
...mine! ”

You say in a Marie Antoinette way.

I am still despondent.

“Oh come here! ”
you comfort me

feeding me hot soft crumbly cake
from your mouth to mine.

you lead me up stairs

“Now, let’s see
about a bun
in the oven! ”