Correspondence

Dear stretch marks
on my thighs,
Why? I give you
my belly, rightly so.
Please don't take my
right to wear shorts.

Dear appetite, I can't
remember what it's like to crave
fajitas or pizza or queso, to say
I want or know what I want
of food. But let's keep this up
post-baby so I can lose
the weight and continue to live
on cereal.

Dear baby, I'm okay
with you kicking, sticking
an elbow into my rib, because
it means you're trying out joints,
learning how to dance, stretching
those limbs that might be long
like your father's or asserting your
own right to motion like me. I'll take
the proof of your heartbeat, the quake
of your meaning, your good morning
and good night, even when I need
to sleep.