I am in bloom. Full of blood, bubbling, full of life. Face aglow, I am awed by the blood vessels flowing to the womb, thickened veins and umbilical pulse. I can feel their swollen contours as they inflect upwards beneath the skin. Bulbous breasts plump with sweet amber, dripping like blackstrap molasses. Soon the ambrosia will pour forth as the new baby feeds, feeding the budding plants, tuberose and jasmine, clematis and columbine, blossoming blackberry brambles; this milky blancmange enriching the fertile soil of spring. The efflorescence is all around; the flurry of blood cell activity flourishing in living to their full potential. I am a Paganini Caprice with all of the embellishments and trills. Baby plays with bladder as a child does with a balloon, squeezing and pouncing. The balmy touch of my husband’s hands on my lumbar soothes the growing pains. Warm mineral spring water placates the pressure and submerged, I am floating like slumbering baby in womb. Resting in this nine-month umbra, cloistered from the world’s abrasive ways, I am imbued with an afflatus shine; mother and baby, together an emblem for Paraclete’s ripening fruit.
© 2016, Amaya Engleking