Digging Your Feet

Baby's due date is fast approaching and he doesn't have much room in there.

He likes to stretch out and put his feet right up into my rib cage and diaphragm.

Usually, I only really write poetry in April (which is also fast approaching), but his movement in there inspired the following:

Digging Your Feet

Baby,
Under my rib cage
may seem like a great place
to bury your feet

but it isn’t, not really

When you come out
you’ll soon see
how many amazing places
you can dig those feet

the ocean, the sand, the snow
the muddy sides of hills
full of determination

into couch cushions
and adventure

you can get your feet dirty
you can get your feet wet
you can shove them and slide them
up into the air
or through long blades of grass

there’ll be boots, socks
the stopping of falls
good natured friends
and holes in the wall

they'll proceed you through tunnels
and frantic water slides
scrabble behind you against
stiff oak and bark

you’ll shove your feet places
sometimes because they’re cold
sometimes because they’re stubborn
curious
and bold

and they'll do more than that

you’ll let them wander
you’ll let them roam

let them take you all over the world
as long as you always come home

you may not realize now
kicking them around in there
but my thoracic cage
isn’t even the start

it’s not even
the best way to my heart

those feet of yours may come out last
but they’ll take you forward
and they’ll take you fast

so go ahead and practice
nuzzle them further against
my diaphragm

but keep it gentle
and save your strength

give your soon to be
happy but weary mother
just a little break