[belly]

Here I am, deep in the belly of the beast. A dark heart in which there is no light, only feeling, falling, succumbing to velvet blackness, an embrace. Womblike, here in the mother. I've been swallowed. Was broken here. Dissolved. Who I once was, the belly I once had, are gone. Traces of me left in blog entries, short stories, old poems, pictures, salt on the desert floor. The uterus, that tornado of a muscle, billows and moans, emptied. My waist is thickened, lined with layers that protected me from the outside world for a time. Then I went in, and when I came back out, the world had changed. I was soft on the outside, power incarnate on the inside. I vibrate with the intensity of 10,000 suns. I roar when I talk. I shatter stone when I walk. My belly, the former igloo cocoon for my son, who burst forth in full wingspan flight, made all of us transformed.

No badha parvrtta parsvakonasana. (liz)

oh, belly, belly...so much like jelly these days! i had hoped that you'd be a six pack by now, oh my jelly belly...mmmm jelly bellies sound good right now, ha ha. my little baby came from my belly, what a beautiful little gift...she's much more precious than the package she came in, oh my jelly belly. if only i knew how to get rid of my jelly belly! i guess i'm supposed to eat right and exercise---whatever, like that's going to happen...not really. i've got to get healthy...my belly jiggles when i run and try to exercise---so does my butt to add more to it, maybe to keep my belly from being lonely---from dancing alone, yeah, that's it. so all of me jiggles and my body is a dance party! (erica)

When I was pregnant I dreamt that I was sitting, cross-legged, painting my nails blood red (something I have never done in my waking life). I paused, in the dream, with the brush inches from the outstretched palette of my hand, and brought the brush instead to my swollen belly and began painting dark red circles around and around my bare skin, my navel at the center. I wrote a poem on a train hurtling through a Vermont winter about the fire in my belly and I read the poem, still on fire, to a room full of people, alive. The desire that springs from the belly, the life. Nora and I lie in bed, belly to belly, sleeping, nursing, singing quietly, cooing. Da! she says, again and again, smiling. Good morning, I love you is Da! Look, I found our kitten! is Da! I am bursting with happiness and hunger and fatigue, please rescue me is Da! We spent hours when she was a newborn together, still, breathing, as she slept on my belly, her soft, sweet weight rising and falling against me. I ache for her being so small and so close, in my belly, upon my belly, and I pull her to me now when she is sleeping, wanting to breathe her in and hold her on my belly sleeping just one more time, but she always resists now, wanting to be close, but also wanting the freedom to move and stretch her soft round limbs and tumble this way and that and fall into sleep on her own belly. (heather)

Oh sweet belly. The home of my most precious gift. Something I used to wish was flatter, more muscular, more something....and then there was Cohen. He filled that space so full. More full than I thought possible. Then there was a softness and a kindness I felt for this place on me. No longer sexy and something to do more crunches for. It became this beautiful, full, tender place for my newest love. Now there are small folds where he used to be. Faint lines to remind me to be kind to myself and to accept where I am and what I look like now. No judgement, no pressure to be different. We've crossed the threshold of motherhood and there's no turning back. The belly is what it should be. Love. (jenny)


Oh, belly belly, how round and jolly you used to be stretched out like a rubber band, holding us all together with such conviction. You used to get all the pats and praise and kisses and hugs and stares, and now you're straight and narrow as any other. Hope you don't think I'm ignoring you. It's just that I've been busy. I do still think you're remarkable and thank you for your heroic work that no other part of me could do. Then you rearranged us back into place, like a cowboy herding or a mother calling her kids in from play at the end of the day. I'll never look at you the same way again, now that I've seen your other side. One, two, three, suck in. Don't mind if I help you out a little down there. You could use a hand after all that you've gone through. We did it. And just so you know, she's doing fine out here. You kept her safe and warm until just in the nick of time. Thank you. (laura)