Picking Olives

I watch an elderly neighbour wilt, through our kitchen
window’s frosted glass. A tracksuited teenager
offers her water. My muddy fleece matches
the communal garden opposite, your bump

almost bigger than our packed fridge, spitting
out the snacks you crave. I’m wearing my best
smile, making a joke so funny that drivers
on the road below rubberneck – the open freezer

door reveals family photos, holiday magnets. I wash
salad, prepare olives. You shriek, we’re clutching stomachs,
and I even hear neighbours in the garden tearing up
roots. I’m viewing our lives from under our spot-

light; planting olive pits and watching you grow –
our little one kicking; changing life as we know.