I don't think I could have gotten any bigger. My round glorious belly almost always in my hands. I loved being two people. I learned how to skateboard that summer. I wanted to show him I could be daring, exciting, fun. I would tether to his bike and hold the rope through the city on her section 8 long board, weaving in and out of traffic in my pink mini skirt. The orchids don't seem to mind the heat, neither do the bananas. The one day it rained in the past two months was on my son's birthday. We had an outdoor party in the rain and it was nice. it rained hard for a few minutes right before he started to crown. Tina said it was babies blessing. I believe it. He survived. He survived my body. He survived my mind. I hope he can survive my traumas. I hope I can. I fell down hard on my board. The day I decided to go down a grassy hill - I stopped to think half way down and that's when I ate shit. My mind is constant in its betrayal. I wanted him to stop me, to tell me it was a bad idea. He was on his phone, checking on the girl echo had just had his abortion. My knee still throbs from the incision, from the uncertainty, all the instability. I'm hard to deal with. He tries, but I think he'd rather not have to. He wants simple and easy. I am neither of those things. When I relax and trust, I end up in a bronco passed out while the driver and his friend smoke meth the whole way back to the city in the middle of the night. He doesn't do anything. He just lets it happen. We survived, I should be grateful. I knew he loved me when my belly was full of him. Note the love feels obligatory. Not simple. Not easy. That's not my lineage. My son changed me. Changed his own future. He was born with a mouth full of shit and still survived. He's forging his own path and I'm blessed as witness. I stayed naked in the summer heat with my baby on my deflated belly for our first 40 days. I sat by the fire and recounted the moments of his birth with him on my lap as he rounded his 7th cycle around the sun. I feel his spirit in the wind on my face through my hair and past my skirt. We all survive.
The Collective Underground