I fell asleep in the summer sun

I glanced down from the book of poetry I’d been reading in the shade from the hot summer sun to my belly. Round. It was round. Who had loved me enough to put a baby in my belly? It felt so natural that I should be becoming a mother, but alien all the same, two of me in the chair under the shade. I set the book aside to try and find the man whose side I’d been made from, who one of my ribs belonged to, the rib that hung like my baby’s first mobile over my womb. I tried to remember what he looked like but only recalled blobs and mist.