The candle burned bright, the FLAME flickering ever so slightly. She lifted her tired feet up onto the bench, her ankles ROUND like little tree trunks. She didn’t understand the royal WRITS that had come and taken her men away – her father, her husband, her brothers. Yes her sisters were here, and Granny across the field, but still, she felt alone and vulnerable. Hadn’t the war taken enough from them? What more could the king want? Her hands rested on her belly, her GIRTH seeming as incomprehensible as those pieces of paper with their heavy seals that had taken the men away. She stared at the candle, trying to remember what the midwife had said about when to send for her. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to imagine what BIRTH would be like, but could not get past the ache in her feet and the heaviness in her belly. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a minute, she could imagine getting up and tending to dinner. Her sisters would be home soon and they had things to discuss.

Georg’ann

Changing of the season
in the night an hour was taken
I need that hour, and more
the HOUSE is caving in on me
Every surface covered with life in motion
Laundry, bills, dishes, miscellany, and detritus
Outside daffodils buoyant yellow in the wet grey as snow falls
There is no CHAIN binding me
to task,
only my own inclinations toward order and beauty
The possibility exists to read something PITHY while sipping tea.
Or measure the WIDTH of that colorful African cloth
whose print is full of MIRTH
in hopes it will encircle my GIRTH
The season of BIRTH has arrived in all its bounty.
Given in exchange for only one hour taken in the night.

Heather