Mary’s song: Quilt

We’ll reach the town tonight,

but tomorrow, Joe, I don’t know

what we’ll say about the baby.

For months we stitched a strange

fabric with unspoken promises.

I’ll pull that quilt up tightly.

I cannot explain what is beneath;

if not for your loyalty to my instinct,

we would have divorced, quietly.

Tonight, when you cannot sleep,

rest your hand upon my belly,

look up at the pinpricks in the sky,

those fiery stitches, promises

of our eternity.

2010.