through the French windows we see Vanessa
barefoot on the misty suburban lawn
doing an arabesque on the wet grass
as we troop down to the breakfast table
her stepfather behind his black moustache
satisfied to have woken us at dawn
with a shout come on, get up! Vanessa
at fifteen or sixteen prepares herself
to quietly drop the bomb of pregnancy
between the napkins and the ticking clock
bolt upright shuts her eyes against the shock
of silence as the pigeons bleat outside
where earlier she balanced her arms wide
her fingers reaching out and out and out