Above and to the left of
where you once flipped and floated,
silent imminent change
promised with each kick—
a bulge, like when you were new,
promise-ripe,
though no pain yet.
CT scans (not sonograms)
reveal its secretive growth,
its indifferent expanse.
Tomorrow is not promised, true—
still pain doubles in the reckoning,
that sudden flood
of expectation.
