Monday, February 19, 2007


This is What My Body Does

j.b. rowell

I explain that this happens
on and off
and by the time
I reach the hospital I will be half
way there.

"Do you want me to check
your cervix?"

I stop and think about his use
of the word "want"
then say no,
that will only make it worse.

"You don't want to have this baby
on the kitchen floor,"
he says laughing.

My kitchen floor is clean
and cold.
The hospital smells
clean but is not
and is colder.

I decide white linoleum
wouldn't be so bad.


Blogger Pat Paulk said...

The grand finale!! Thankfully, it's not 100 years ago, and you have the choice. Love the poem!!

8:07 AM, February 19, 2007  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

Yes Pat - thankfully hospitals have made having babies safer. If they could figure out how to take the mother completely out of the equation, they would. They already pretend like you're not really there!


8:23 AM, February 19, 2007  
Blogger Lincoln Writer said...

Hi ... I found your blog last week as I was googling for something else. I love how that happens (even if the internet is a giant time-sucking black hole). Wanted to let you know you have a new fan, and I'll probably be checking back. Your poems are crisp and vivid. I am envious.

8:37 PM, February 20, 2007  
Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

Hi Lincoln Writer - I don't know anything about giant time-sucking black holes - ha! Lately, I've been googling baby stuff - my way of nesting while resting . . .

Thanks for reading my poems! I enjoyed your blog and also received the Kooser Valentine - is it really his last? :(


9:09 PM, February 20, 2007  

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