10-3-96

Straining in labor
 like a reluctant baby
Despite the length of time
Despite the planning and preparation
The ending is always a struggle
Never too early
Disaster if late
This soft weary figment
 real and unruly
Springs from conception

I am not the father, but only the mother
I am not the creator, but only the laborer
I bear the dreams of another,
 though I can still savor in silent pride
This child takes the name of the father
The provider of my bread.