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Mama Mada
Ants
by Rebecca Go ss
They came for us as we breathed – unified and quivering
on blond gymnasium ash. Eager elbows of antennae
in a dark, tremulous lace as fourteen pregnant women
lay beached on Pilates mats. A midwife’s sudden alarm
at the trembling, advancing line but her panic was rebuffed
in a sports hall of barn proportions. We simply moved our mats
to start again, sprawled ourselves like snails. You stirred at this,
a prod of confirmation and I held my belly like a ready pear.
Opening an eye, I glimpsed the odd brave stray,
its glossy nodes defined,
now free of the pack. I was squeezing my pelvic
floor when they muscled
their way under and with one collective heave lifted me, inches
from the ground. Hard to believe I didn’t smash their shiny backs
as they marched me one triumphant lap, past the cracked heels
of tired, expectant women. As we headed for the door, I’m sure
I heard you laughing, felt you leap in me like mischief,
your mother superbly weightless, on a sheet of shivering black.
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