Belly Rolls
Middle is no longer my own—
still attached to me, allowing me
to connect limbs to limbs, yes, but
now inhabited by another. No longer
viable to bend in half, to pick up items
from the floor, put on shoes, pet my
dog, shave my legs, etcetera. There is
a bulbous skin-tight element and often,
the creature within takes turns shifting,
stretching, kicking or whatever nimble
movements can occur in such a cramped
space. The newspaper I lean onto my new
belly shelf jumps when the other motions
and sometimes, my favorite, a heel or
elbow stiffens against my rim like fingers
pushing out from within a latex glove or
jabbing Jello with the underside of a spoon,
and I can feel the little one within as if it were
reaching out to greet me, just for a moment
before the tumbling and acrobatics begin again.
