Birth

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By S. Alexandra

The sun beats down.

She’s feeding a tiny baby in her car using abstractions of motherhood and instinct. Now lowering it into the passenger seat. Opens the driver side door, cups a hand over her eyes.

Cicadas sing.

A line has formed on the river beach: people waiting to have their pictures taken on a bench submerged in emerald water. The photographer is giving a speech.

She goes to the bench, sits down baptismally in several inches of water facing the crowd, the crowd facing the photographer, his back to the river.

The crowd soughs and gurgles.

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