for Hannah in her ninth month
She stomps villages.
Whole populations scramble around her feet,
in any direction they can find where her feet
Bridges bust against her knees.
She guzzles reservoirs,
grabs whole trees and chomps–
leaves and roots and bird’s nests grind between her teeth.
Cars lie squashed like soda cans.
She grinds her itchy scaly back against mountains—
sky scrapers aren’t much use—they just fall down.
Stubby arms barely scratch her nose.
She’s wrong size everywhere she goes.
Every time she growls, cows and sheep run for miles,
grains flatten–crop circles shaped like gobs.
Her belly gorged with roughage and veg
grumbles anyway, clenches like a fist of coal,
drags her forwardforwardforward.
Even if she knew where they were landing
She couldn’t see her feet to tell them where to go.
She hasn’t slept in months.
She’s hungry for the ocean–
needs to find the giant waves
on the other side,
shed this skin, and wake,
discovering herself made all of pearls.