Solstice Walk

This fecundity is hard to trust.
Ferns luxuriating in dewy pools,
peony heads sleeping
on sienna beds, brambles
of blood-red roses,
ebullient bee swarms.
I have always been more
the winter tree pared down.
But now my belly is blooming.
Now invisible hands and feet
pummel me just enough so I
begin to trust he is burgeoning.
Now he submerges like a fish,
undetectable, too quiet.

Francine Rubin