Prayer for the Unborn

Do you hear my whisper, monkey girl?
Your mother wants you to be called Lola, but
your father think it's a whore's name.

You have to come loudly, and quickly
and bring the smiles back to our faces.
I've passed on the story that you are double fortune;
your brother Gabriel's birth soul is inside yours,
bringing you tiger strength,
fortitude like no other little girl could dream of,
and the moment of love --alive and well--
in the dark hair of your father
and redheaded soul of your mother.

I tried to record the story of last summer,
undying heat, her screaming like saxophones wailing
out their row of open windows,
the muddy dreams and dread when we all woke up at 6:19.

The sirens, the pit of our stomachs feeling like we'd been hit
by the very fist of God.
I was happy to drain them of their tidal waves of shock and sadness,
there is nothing like seeing a tiny coffin, in the blazing sun.

This is also the story of your soul, girl.
We're preparing the table for your feast, as
you are almost here and we dream about you.
They've been dreaming about you and your twin brother
the one who stays in the wind to live separately alongside you.

Don't keep us waiting too long.
Your kicks and fists are already legendary on this plane.
Your mark is made, and it's only anyone's guess when
you start giving her a hard time, and finding yourself
always on his side.  Just like mine.

I hope to greet you wearing a ridiculous Hallow's Eve costume.
Call me Aunt Ginny, because I'll be having a drink
when I hear your first cry.
You remove the lie a little more, and spread the seas wide
for us, your performance of their blessed circus show
has already received a standing ovation.

Step on over, we are waiting.

~ M. Lucia