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.