Varessa spreads a song softly
Over her womb,
Spreads it warmly:
"Love hears" to the child,
"Love hears."

Accustomed to Husband's hands
That come as storms
And bring no apology,
Varessa holds each blow
In the place where a woman keeps love.

She understands
The dream
Come again:
Of children picking daisies
In the snow.

"I, too, am unborn Lord.
I, too, am unborn."
She kneels in a field where once she was a girl,
Praying into a morning sky
Colored in deep shades of bruising.