Landscapes

Riding on the night train North through Thailand, tucked up at the foot of a bed that began the journey as two individual bench seats. Propped against the pillows at Toff's feet, looking out the window at the darkness, only to get nothing but my own reflection in return. Listening to Bon Iver's Blood Bank over and over and over again. Sitting awake as the tracks carried us closer and closer to Bangkok. To the airport. To home. Writing. Trying to write. Trying to build some sort of an ending into this massive massive journey. Filling in the last few pages of the journal we wrote in for each and every day of our 193 day trip. Reflections. My favorite parts. Remembering the last four months of our wonderful wonderful trip (it still feels weird to call it a 'honeymoon').

And now. When I want to write. Blood Bank is still my unofficial anthem. Something about it feels so beautiful to me, that it makes me want to write too. Hopefully something beautiful.

Well, I met you at the blood bank

We were looking at the bags

Wondering if any of the colors

Matched any of the names we knew on the tags

Maybe it only works when it's played on repeat 7 times.

And I said I know it well

Last night, lying in bed. Feeling the ridges and mountains and valleys that have become my body. Feeling the weight of my boobs (which now, here, laying down, still remain mountains on top of my chest). Lower to the ridges of my rib cage and then to the soft flesh just below - the high ground - the area of my abdomen that the baby hasn't reached out to yet. Room to grow into later. Circling my belly button, which is slowing raising, until one day I imagine it will officially become an "outtie." I only noticed yesterday for the first time, when I went to pat my tummy, that the crater feels much wider now than it used to. A bigger circle, but still an innie.

That secret that you know

But don't know how to tell

It fucks with your honor

And it teases your head

Then finally, eventually, below my belly button where my stomach/muscles/flesh starts to get hard/firm. This is where I can feel my muscles stretching over you. This is where I can feel you, little baby. Your head, which I can feel with my fingertips because it's the firmest part, most often stays on my right. And as I poke and prod, (hoping you don't mind little one! Hoping you don't mind...) I notice how you (or is it I?) don't feel quite so firm on the left side. So this, I imagine, is where the rest of your body and your legs are. But when is it poking you....and when is it just poking myself?

You said, "Ain't this just like the present

To be showing up like this"

As a moon waned to crescent

We started to kiss

I have outgrown exactly one piece of clothing. A skirt doesn't fit any more because it was tight and high waisted. Two, I suppose, if you include my bras that won't fit anymore. That is also the same number, little one, as the amount of clothes that belong to you already. A set of socks that your grandmother Jen bought for you, hand knit and beautifully mismatched so it won't matter when we lose one, and a shirt from the Waifs concert your dad and I went to a few weeks ago. It's too big for you now. But in a few years we can give it to you, and you can wear it, and we'll all sing along to their cd and say "you were there too. You came with us. And the lead singer was 6 months pregnant too. She was so gorgeous."

And I say I know it well.

I know it well.