by Liz Stewart Vincent van Zalinge Love is growing inside me. I float in fields of honeyed grass. Me and a colony of grasses, a worm, a milkweed, a thistle, and a family of ants form a messy row on the ground. Here is the place my mother watched for birds. She called it sanctuary. Her ashes were scattered here. I am pregnant and my baby is love. My baby craves birdsong and makes me throw up the sound of Ninja blenders. It doesn’t matter how pure my wife’s intentions — she’s m