The warmth that day
announced that spring had begun.
She looked like she was ready to burst,
holding her fat bulb

Proudly.
Covered in red, from breast to thigh,
she was due to flower in late April
or early May

hundreds of buds will open
on the Magnolia tree in two weeks,
they will all fall
into the fountain

there, Bacchante
cradles her baby.
Taunting her,
holding grapes

above her head,
just out of reach.
Encapsulated in stone,
her baby will never exist

beyond the fountain
or outside of the womb.