I bought her from a street vendor in Haiti.
Poverty stricken men begged for our business. They didn’t have to beg me a second for her. I saw her. I wanted her from the minute I laid eyes on her.
I bought her for $12. Didn’t barter a cent. She’s worth far more.
If she were to break, I would freak.
She’s pregnant. Expectant. Waiting on something more.
She doesn’t push or shove her way to delivery. She wants nothing more than to birth when the time is right.
She’s beautiful. Ripe. Swollen with new life.
Moves my heart so.
She’s been on my dresser for a year and a half. I stare at her nearly every morning before I rise from bed.
Three weeks ago, I brought her to her rightful place. Downstairs. Where we move. Where we live. Where I write and ponder. Where she can be treasured, loved and remembered for who she was, for who is, for who she will be.
Full of promise.