Sitting with my bulbous belly, a baby grows inside.

Labor intensive, repetitive, movements are practiced and felt.

Aware of our symbiotic entanglement that has only begun, I make space for her.

Space… or distance from our soon to be shared Histories, not wanting the same.

Embellishments shine like stars making way for hope.

Hope for new Histories, free of trauma.

She will develop between the polarities of symbiotic needs and the desire for autonomy.

She is my concession.

We are forever tethered.