Transition

is it not strange
that one can feel a heart beating?
fertile indeed
with hopes, dreams
will they become a reality?
what--who is this creature
in me, of me,
whose heart beats so quietly
waiting?
who is this stranger
this one--
who I barely know?
I am myself no longer
and who I am I know not
this heart is not my own.
and whose are these
hopes and dreams?
my children
of me, in me
for a little space
emerge to find
their mother
not their mother
I did not give them birth
and yet--they are mine too.