Poem 11

Here is a short poem. I'm not sure when I wrote this or why, but I have not fiddled with it much since then. Every so often I can churn out something I like in a first revision.
As I post this, I want to change it already, so I'll just hit "publish" right now.

Communion

Sometime in the future,
ten P.M.,
a young woman with yellow hair
lifts the comforter,
looks past her small breasts
to the growing womb.
Her fingers explore her belly
after not knowing
that five years later
her daughter would
stand in the bathroom
and run fingers over abdomen
while she waits for the bath to fill.
She wonders how her baby will feel.