The Stretch Marks Between
A quiet moment before everything changes shape
The stretch marks caught the light.
Like silver lines
drawn too fast to stay straight.
I was on the couch,
tea gone cold,
shirt pushed up,
watching the skin of my belly
ripple and tighten
as something turned beneath.
A heel.
A shoulder.
A slow roll just under the surface.
My second.
My first didn’t say a word.
Just climbed up,
tucked himself against me,
one hand under my shirt
like always.
But slower.
Like he knew it was almost
the last time.
His head rested on me,
warm, heavy,
and I held it there
with the flat of my hand.
Felt the rise and fall of both of us.
And the space between.
I was losing the version of him
who only needed me.
And he was becoming someone
who would go
where I wouldn’t follow.
Run ahead.
Make someone else laugh first.
Forget to look back.
The baby moved again.
A deep shift,
like the tide changing its mind.
He held on tighter.
Said nothing.
And we sat like that,
still and silent,
as light broke water
and shadow crept across the floor.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Louise Williams and writers in Poets and other communities.
New, in a familiar way
The second time, Claire wasn’t supposed to fall apart. She’d already done the midnight feeds and the cracked nipples and the one-second-per-step’s up and down the hallway with a baby who refused to sleep unless she was slowly dislocating her own shoulder. She’d Googled enough things in the first year of Ava’s life to qualify for a fake medical degree. She knew which milestones were worth watching and which ones were just there to make you feel like you were falling behind. She knew how to take care of a baby.
By Louise Williams7 months ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
What a perfectly beautiful moment ❤️