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Poetry

Poetry 10.1 Affilia 177/0886109903251423 Summer 2003 Poetry POETRY Judith Arcana Poem as Notes for a Film Script February 7, a Sunday, inside the apartment She woke slowly, eyelids slit against light, legs still tangled into his. Sticky thighs, dry mouth. She peeled herself off the hair of his legs, skin on his knees. He groaned, mumbled, rolled over. She pulled the pillow out from under her head, lay flat. The condom, inside of her, leaked onto the sheet. She thought in short sentences: I’m pregnant. I’m exactly pregnant. I know it. This is happening. She went to the bathroom, came back, lay down, turned on her side, looked at him. She thought, We made a baby, this man and I. We drank good red wine, locked ourselves together wet and hot. We made a baby. She thought, It’ll look like him: brown eyes, black curls. A girl. I’ll name her for my mother, Lenore. She imagined a ruddy baby, made of good red wine and her mother ’s name. Then she thought, Wait. Wait a minute. Who is this man, really? Cute, funny, smart, but is he someone to make a person with, someone to make a baby? Wait. Wait. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work SAGE

Poetry

Arcana, Judith
Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work , Volume 18 (2): 5 – May 1, 2003
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Publisher
SAGE
Copyright
Copyright © by SAGE Publications
ISSN
0886-1099
eISSN
1552-3020
DOI
10.1177/0886109903018002011
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

10.1 Affilia 177/0886109903251423 Summer 2003 Poetry POETRY Judith Arcana Poem as Notes for a Film Script February 7, a Sunday, inside the apartment She woke slowly, eyelids slit against light, legs still tangled into his. Sticky thighs, dry mouth. She peeled herself off the hair of his legs, skin on his knees. He groaned, mumbled, rolled over. She pulled the pillow out from under her head, lay flat. The condom, inside of her, leaked onto the sheet. She thought in short sentences: I’m pregnant. I’m exactly pregnant. I know it. This is happening. She went to the bathroom, came back, lay down, turned on her side, looked at him. She thought, We made a baby, this man and I. We drank good red wine, locked ourselves together wet and hot. We made a baby. She thought, It’ll look like him: brown eyes, black curls. A girl. I’ll name her for my mother, Lenore. She imagined a ruddy baby, made of good red wine and her mother ’s name. Then she thought, Wait. Wait a minute. Who is this man, really? Cute, funny, smart, but is he someone to make a person with, someone to make a baby? Wait. Wait.

Journal

Affilia: Journal of Women and Social Work – SAGE

Published: May 1, 2003

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