Greater and Greater Things

Like a tent, like a tarpaulin, 
like the roof that held each 

thing in. Across my belly though
fainter now, brown marks 

that stretched my skin from 
inside, each time my womb grew 

to house a child. Let everything
happen to you, said Rilke— 

and I, a kind of vessel life
will fill and burst and fill

again, if it doesn't defeat
me. I thought it was my duty 

not to break this cycle. 
But really, not to break.