Heavy Laden as I Was

 

Pregnant with my third baby,

I climbed over the black stones

to get to the beach

near Westport to go clamming—

rake in one hand,

pail in the other.

 

It was easier than I

thought it would be, heavy laden

as I was, and the chowder made

was even better

than I thought it would be—

 

smoke and ocean air a salty brine

for my wombfed son,

the thumpbeat of my heart

and the quick-tick of his in melody—

this poem

 

resting easy

between us

where all the rocky future had been.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner