"Pregnancy, Week 14" by L J Sysko

So, my wife is pregnant. 14 weeks tomorrow, in fact. Lo and behold, I reached up and grabbed the 2008 issue of Alehouse off the top of a stack of journals this morning, I turned right to the poem "Pregnancy, Week 14" by L J Sysko. And while Sysko's is a very different kind of poetry than Paul Anka's, I would like to dedicate this poem to my wife and the little being inside her. According to BabyCenter.com, our little guy or girl is about the size of a lemon right now.

Pregnancy, Week 14

When you flutter inside,
the snow returns after 70 degree days,

the raccoon rocks the trash can over
and finds nothing inside,

the balloon’s string falls slack,
unmoved by our house’s

indoor weather, and at night,
turned on my left side for you,

I wake to empty my bladder.
This is the hour when I see images

in the trees from the bathroom window—
a baby whale in the upper branches,

calm, still, fluke erect, an antenna searching
for signals. It is not there during the day, but

at night, on these nights, I see it,
that I can’t unzip out of this skin,

that I am returning, that it returns,
and I swim against its tide to footing

on this cold marble floor, the color of sand
settling, and stand.

(L J Sysko, from the 2008 issue of Alehouse)