By Irene Ioannou


Ten minutes now, I am devising a strategy

to slide my exhausted legs to the floor

shimmy my way to the edge

and raise my belly from the sofa,

walk the whole five meters to the loo

unaffected by the laws of gravity, of firstborn brats,

and of bungling husbands demanding rest after work,

peace in the world, and a holy family,

keeping in mind to avoid the horror mirror,

the eyes of others, or the window sight

and remembering,

always remembering

to restrain myself --

as unborn babies respond to mothers’ moods,

and I am having a girl.