Potato, Goose
In the evening, Jessie, pregnant-slow and sweating, walks behind her husband and toddler. When she gets to the smooth red-brown boulder she has always thought of as Potato Rock at the edge of the marsh that she hikes deep inside, she leans her back on it, letting it take her full weight and much of her pain.
She watches her family move on without her, wonders if they notice she is gone. Above her, she hears geese calling to each other, letting each other know where they are. They are coming in low and from the north, and she watches as they skim the treetops. As they pass over her, her water breaks, and it is to the music of the geese.
Later, as she will hold her son fresh to this world in her arms, she'll say that she wants to name the little boy Potato, and her husband will laugh, thinking she's making a joke. Then she'll say that they should name him Goose, and her husband will laugh again, with the intimate noise that only deep love can create, and she will smile and settle on William, but she'll always call him either Potato or Goose.
But for now, she is content, her back resting on the smooth curve of the stone, waiting for her family to come back, almost hoping they don't return too soon. She listens to the geese flying away. She feels the sunlight on the warm stone.