Dusk creeps through, a haze over day,
casting shadows into the living room.
I haven’t moved much since waking,
my body letting go of unused materials
it creates every month just in case
another baby grows there.
Word Girl and animated father-son dialogue through Hero Quest, a saving background, keeping me above enveloping sadness, itself a mysterious product of a miraculous cycle. Does any woman ever get used to this process, or simply endure? And where does the sadness come from?