*taut As A Drum Poem by Lillian Susan Thomas

In the third trimester the belly
Becomes taut as drum skin
But not over an empty tub -
Instead full as the waxing moon -
Ripe as muskmelon ready for harvest,
But thumping it might find an answering thump.

Close to the end of pregnancy
Summer's heat brought my unborn
Near the thin skin over the umbilicus
To find a cool place to lay her head.
A tiny hand pressed against my navel.
I touched her back -
Palm to palm -
And I imagined the faintest flutter of fingers
Signing against my hand
The way blind mutes communicate:
But the only language we shared
Was still being built
In the phonemes of blood,
in the inflection of heartbeats,
In the grammar of emotions.
Something passed between us -
A vague sense of calm -
Then she swam away.

written July 2009