old stuff

I wrote this quite some time ago. It came runner-up in a microfiction competition.

don’t touch

Being pregnant in summer; you can’t hide that through tent like, cotton dresses. I thirst for winter, where I can swap threadbare smocks for thick coats. It’s as though someone has put a match to strangers eyes; drunken smiles painted on bland faces. I wish for people to pass me by, but they gush; pressing sweaty palms on my taut gut.

‘What are you having?’

‘A baby.’

‘Some people like a surprise,’ they say with upturned lips.

My husband would spin in his grave if he knew people were touching my belly, sizing me up like some strange fruit from Africa.

3 thoughts on “old stuff

  1. Thanks Toniann and Leesa – I was quite happy with what I wrote for this particular comp. My Masters supervisor – a *brilliant* writer (who has a PhD in creative writing and is widely published) won the competition, so I was pretty stoked with second. It happened at a time in my life when I really needed to know that I was worthy and that I COULD write. The universe and timing, huh? xoxo

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