God’s Hairy Knuckles and My Womb

i want to say i can feel God’s strong, strong hands
around my baby maker.

but that just sounds all wrong.
dirty somehow. or just weird.

but this ‘thing’ isn’t some abstract part.
i take them out in surgery
i explore them on exam
not just a bullwinkle-looking pink drawing from a text book
the shape and size and realness of them
of mine.
exists to me.

and i really do picture those hands.
it just came to me.

and sometimes, of course, i doubt that they’re there,
or even that He knows about this image.
or this need.
i wonder am i creating this for my own peace of mind?

but even so, in my head i see strong, strong man hands
with age written in wrinkles and a little white hair
on the knuckles
cradling my, i guess i’ll just say it…
(can you name a girl part in this media?)
(or do i have to call it my “flower” or “oven” or “box?”)
(or is that something else?)
(oh, stop babbling and get on with it)

oh, so gently.

then my smaller pair of hands on top of His
together we’re holding so delicately the pieces together
keeping it from cracking,
keeping it warm and safe.

and i know He does know.
and i have to guess that this image came from somewhere
that He does have a plan for using this apparently worthless vesicle
for some baby making.

but here i go, i bleed again.
each time feels like failure.
means another 31-36 days of waiting in agony.
wondering what, if anything…
(too soon? drama queen? just relax? stop being neurotic?)

…is wrong.

but eventually i do a little thinking
a little time with God talking
maybe a little yoga-ing
and i come out with my head back on straight

and i try another month.
and i keep my hands in my head on my uterus in my head
and hope there’s another pair of strong, strong hands
to join me.


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