I'm Making a Book for You, Elizabeth Taylor

One of my recent projects is a book for the unborn girlie Joiner we're welcoming into the world in January. I now know what it's like to be a silly pregnant lady and talk about nothing other than babies - it's just a thing. And now I'm a part of that problem. Haha! Anyhow, I'm making a photo album/keepsake/collage book for our little girl to have that details the pregnancy and her first couple years, and since I'm such a fan of verse, I'm collecting poems to showcase within the book. Here's a beautiful one by Sylvia Plath about being pregnant. I think that it may be the first poem I use within the album.



You’re

Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and mook-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo’s mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools’ Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bug and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

-Sylvia Plath