Three blocks away, my husband and I hear the rolling, roaring, rushing of 3,160 tons of water plummeting over a cliff on the US-Canada border. We’re drawn to the sound like moths to a porch light. We weave through the crowd until there’s only a railing between us and the whirling currents below. I lean over, close my eyes, feel the mist settle on my pores and eyelashes. Something jumps inside me. The baby inside my womb dances—my adrenaline coursing through her veins. I place my palms on my belly, hold my world with open hands.
Bethany Jarmul is a writer, editor, and poet. Her work has appeared in 50+ literary magazines and been nominated for Best of the Net. Instagram and Twitter @BethanyJarmul, bethanyjarmul.com