This is poem 17 out of 30 for International Newspaper Blackout Poetry Month.
So this is weird: I showed this poem to my wife and she told me about this ritual called a “blessingway” that some expecting mothers do. Sometimes it involves henna (“painting yr hands”). I had no clue. I thought “painting yr hands” was like painting your fingernails. Just a cool image. (OH, BEHOLD THE MAGIC of blackout poetry! The poem knows more than you, etc.)