A friend has told me her daughter is pregnant
and she is looking forward to being a first-time grandmother.
I wrote this poem for my first son who is now fifty-one years old.
I'd like a window in my womb
through which to watch this baby growing.
Minuscule creation, aquatic being
so many things I'd end up knowing.
Would I grow stoop-shouldered from inward peering.
Would I bare my navel to the world.
Would I spend my time in endless cheering
As I watched a miracle unfurled.