Calendar

You were a secret holiday
conceived between Thanksgiving's feast
and the rose light of Christmas.

A sphere of growing cells, you burrowed
in the red forests of my womb,
your first home,
while Grandma was buried
in frozen brown earth.

Despite blinding snow cyclones
and air paralyzed by ice,
you grew relentlessly, inch by inch
in your soft watery world.

As gelationous sap
began its sluggish circulation,
tingeing trees orange in promise of life,
you began to stir, kicking, turning,
a fluttering pulse
deep inside.

You blossomed in me,
stretching met out
as virgin leaves unfurled.

When summer heat muffled earth like a quilt,
you slowed me, a fat snail,
to lazy immobility.

The harvest of a ripe summer,
you emerged in autumn's passion
as star promises
streaked
across a cool black sky.