A Poem by Athena Pangikas-Miller

Christmas Picture of My Son Before Birth

I dreamt you underneath my skin
the fins of fantails splaying, suspended
beneath my aqueous horizon
below the plum-lined equator
my puckered naval full of you.
While I dreamt you wept
shrouded your face with pink fingers
like clenching columbine
you slept in tears
and grew smoother,
rounder, fuller
your knees drawn to your chest
like a loved one you’ve forgotten.
You sang me underwater songs
and chirped within your liquid nest
the sweetness of my blood
sustaining you
You, drinking it in
as a hummingbird draws nectar
through a tapered straw
dipped in placenta
like ripe red amarillas
just before the last flowers fall
you come home.



Athena Pangikas-Miller is a native Pittsburgher and poet. She is a
student at Chatham University in the MFA program, an academic advisor of
food and fashion by day, and a teacher of basic composition by night.
She is expecting her second child around Thanksgiving and lives in the
quaint steel-town of Koppel with her husband, Michael; son, Ares; dog,
Minerva; and a menagerie of cats.