S u r f a c i n g

Driving through the rain, my wife’s
stomach was swollen as the moon―
her ninth month. “Do you feel that?”
she asked, and saying no I pulled away,
grabbing the wheel with both hands.
She lifted her shirt and a small knot
rose in the middle of her belly. Suddenly,
lightning split the sky, and clouds
flickered like a dying brain. A tree
on the corner erupted in orange
sparks, concussion, and I became
the smallness I always knew I was.
As I slid onto the loose shoulder
of the road, my wife screamed
“Keep going! Keep going!”, the flames
glowing in her eyes like church bells.
She held onto her stomach with both hands
while I held onto the wheel.

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