You’re only a thought I now
impress onto your mom.
My fingers write your name
on her skin. With slight pressure,
I inscribe I M O G E N
across her stomach.
Who knew we willed you to life?
Now, you’re on the way,
and it’s never too early to start.
I kiss your mom’s distended belly
and whisper Ramona will be
your new name. You will be smarter
than we. And with that, I write poems
to you. Your mom sings.
You kick in accord.
Then, there were complications.
Now, you’re again a thought
impressed in our souls. Your mom
and I feel your name on our lips,
bellies and fingers. Imogen.
Ramona. How can we call you?
How could we forget?