after Tryphena Yeboah
today i reached my third trimester and still my water is
unbroken. three trimesters and i have not been dipped
inside a low-temperature sauna
where friction is nonexistent and
the sweet agony of flesh throb-
bing in flesh is as memory wash
-ed from an infant's eyes by age.
oh my watch is ended and i must
see this slimy cream satisfaction.
so i carry myself into a labor ward and kick the midwives
out. i will deliver myself today. i fold my legs like a curtain
and put the pictures on replay
from every scene in a concept
-tion ward. bare vagina facing
the dick-tor. waiting for thrust.
mouthful of flesh and contract
-ion is an insatiable hunger wait
-ing for a rupture that satiates.
dampness grows hauling a furnace-like rockness that
ruptures the first gate with painful sweetness and gives
way to all comings. push push
push push. breathe in. thunder.
i gasp with a hush till hushing is
blasphemy when divinity comes.
now i'm screaming 'cause we're
almost there. oh my god! we are
almost there. almost. almost. all
-most. until a last inverted susurration comes like rain-
drops spilling spilling till it's finally here. is it a boy/girl?
I ECHO is a Ghanaian-Nigerian journeyman writer writing to save his life. Previously published under the name "Chris Baah," some of his works have been published or are forthcoming in African Writers Magazine, Kalahari Review, New Note Poetry, among others. He tweets on @AyeEcho