They shut down the restaurants in Los Angeles
and you became an orange
in my heart shaped womb.
How closely you trail this
novel virus,
January 7th 2020
they identified our COVID-19
and I discovered
you.
My new resident, safe
or unsafe inside of me,
your country.
Fourteen weeks in eutero,
pandemic and fetus growing together,
like a brain mosaic of neurons and glia.
You shelter in my womb and I
in place, social distancing
I pass through waves
of lingering nausea, fatigue.
The world and I and you
joined in this tumult,
incubation and unknown.
The SoCal skies hang
confused for days
heavy with rain or brightening to blue
within an hour.
We suffer together
the global anxieties
baby-moons cancelled
employments put on hold.
We wash our hands
in the ballooning tension and wait
for the rupture and release.
