She knew from the start:
breasts tender, nipples dark plums
that nausea in the car
the shortness of breath
reading a poem to her class.
She knew.         And the hunger—
falling on her meals like a rat
falling asleep like a rock in dark water.

What is new is her body.
It doesn’t want her morning coffee.
it doesn’t want to work until she drops.
It wants fat red grapes,
ripe bananas, strawberries,
glass after glass of well water.
It wants hot chocolate
with marshmallows floating on top.

It wants sleep.  Soft blue ripples
of sleep lap at her ankles.
She wades in up to her knees
and floats on a sheet of water, rocking.
Snow melts, swells the stream, fills the lake.
Seeds take root or they don’t.
She needn’t do a thing.