Hannah couldn’t eat
because she’d swallowed a lie
that bloated her womb
to near fatal distension.

“I am the fruit I bear”
she insisted and resisted
with teargas and clubs
the obvious protest
of trunk, roots and branches.

Thank God for Elkanah,
Hannah’s man of love
who conquers doubt with questions.
“Am I not worth more to you than ten sons?”
Thank God for men of love.
Let us each internalize at least one
as a tender organ
to regulate the womb
when this grows dangerously distended.