alien

How beautiful the experience, they say, of carrying a child in your womb. There’s no denying it, but such a description falls short when painting a picture for blind men who have neither seen blue nor experienced its hue. I’d say it’s quite alien — the moving and grooving of a little life inside. Sight unseen neither eyes can see, not the host nor the resident. Senses are heightened in ways unimaginable. Our experiences differ vastly. 

She hears my voice like the humming of sounds under waves of water while I remain deaf to her coos. She knows my scent though I have no whiff of hers. I often wonder what she’s doing in there as I watch her body glide from one side to another, pushing past the walls of my skin. She presses against it, testing its boundaries as though to escape restriction. Wild, abrupt, and defiant are her jerks — a hint of her temperament. The sight of her, though mostly felt, forces my heart to rejoice. Is she exploring her way as she presses her fists against the walls? Does she grab the umbilical chord to see how far it stretches? Or is she simply stretching? She finds comfort in this space, and it delights in her company. Rightfully, it’s named her its queen. She bears no concept of her status or the weight of her skin. She’s enviably free. Sure, beautiful is one way to put it but this blind experience jolts the soul to another dimension. It recalls the story of human life, the divine breath we are undeserving of.