I’ve been dizzy all day despite being empirically unpregnant, in a red and final way. I must be pregnant with a ghost child who will not be shaken by this reasonable and scientific flood. And that is what I will tell people, word for word, as an explanation, when I gain 200 pounds and go around wearing caftans.
I’m so sad, so sad these days. These past three days. I’m not even writing this to you, really. I’m just writing it down to push it away like a plate. It’s one good reason to be pregnant, because a fetus explains so many things. I just want someone massive and quiet to zip my head up inside his coat. I need some kind of wall, despite what Robert Frost says about that.
Somewhere on his little cliff, my ghost fetus is watching the waterfall with his slanty eyes, and craning his head over his white shoulder to look up at where my heart is, and saying “…Mom?”