Nearly

She lies in bed and lifts her hands above her belly to embrace a weightless orb.
Her splayed fingers scarcely sense its olive oil smoothness.
Starlight through the window almost reveals its translucence and empty interior.
She lowers her hands and it rests on the skin of her belly with the slightest hint of warmth.
She withdraws her fingers and a space in her belly opens to accept the orb.
She lies still, determined that this orb remain empty.
Amassed disappointments from the past nearly penetrate and she nudges them away.
Anxiousness about a future of loneliness nearly infiltrates and she gives a shove.
Pregnant with emptiness, she waits for that which she desires to occupy the space.
She nearly knows what it is.