By Allison Mei-Li

The darkness of night hung in balance 
with the glow of fluorescence,
electricity buzzing through my heavy legs. 
I craned forward, shoulders curved
toward bursting belly, bent in prayer 
for the universe 
of my own body, 
for the planet 
in the center of my abdomen. 
When the Earth quaked, 
his slippery body emerged, 
slick and curled, a heaving chest of cries. 
They placed him in my arms and clamped our tether, 
making him whole, breaking me open in two.   
I could say my womb became emptier without him, 
but he left behind the light of 
one million shimmering moons. 

Guest poetry written by Allison Mei-Li. Allison writes from Southern California, where she lives with her husband and son. When not chasing after her toddler, she works as a speech pathologist at her private practice and writes for a local parenting website. Find more of her work at allisonwrites.substack.com.

Photo by Jennifer Floyd.