In theory I will share some of my own work on here at some point. For now, here is another poem via the Writers Almanac. The poet sums it up so well. Pregnancy is an interesting experience. I definitely felt the foreignness of the experience more the first time around, and now that feeling has ceased. I have never ceased to feel a sense of wonder at the whole process, though, and may be more in awe now than I was the first time. Anyway, a poem. I love the old black and white ultrasounds, by the way: the new 3-D ones kind of freak me out. That could definitely just be me.
by Greg Delanty
I'm back again scrutinizing the Milky Way
of your ultrasound, scanning the dark
matter, the nothingness, that now the heads say
is chockablock with quarks & squarks,
gravitons & gravitini, photons & photinos. Our sprout,
who art there inside the spacecraft
of your ma, the time capsule of this printout,
hurling & whirling towards us, it's all daft
on this earth. Our alien who art in the heavens,
our Martian, our little green man, we're anxious
to make contact, to ask questions
about the heavendom you hail from, to discuss
the whole shebang of the beginning & end,
the pre–big bang untime before you forget the why
and lie of thy first place. And, our friend,
to say Welcome, that we mean no harm, we'd die
for you even, that we pray you're not here
to subdue us, that we'd put away
our ray guns, missiles, attitude and share
our world with you, little big head, if only you stay.
"The Alien" by Greg Delanty, from The Ship of Birth.