Tag: mother
Listen to Your Mother
I am your mother the birth-blood on your forehead a fedora the milk nipple a trough gone dry I am coyote cry that curls from your throat spittle that chokes your forlorn moan the wolf’s rattling howl I am Pontius Pilate the hammer the nail the washer of feet I Read more
When I Climbed Trees
When I was a girl, the worst thing I could imagine was being alone yet, here I am, sweeping through each day without benevolent counsel and making it— waking up to find these people are my people, unaided and I haven’t an ear to bend when I am unsure or Read more
Blind Ambition
If Tina wasn’t so damn hard, I probably wouldn’t be doing this, but even a dog gets tired of being kicked after a while. In a year and a half, I’ll be eighteen anyway, so cutting out early’s no big whoop. Wonder if she even knows I’m gone. The manager Read more
Right Here
The April Mom died, I resisted going East, believing that if I didn’t go, she wouldn’t die. I did not want her spry, wise, funny light extinguished. But my second daughter, then fifteen, looked at me with scorn and said, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m going to Read more
Every Woman
I like to read books
and watch the sunset
pull dirt out of sentences.
LOSGELASSENHEIT*
Think of anatomy as a refuge, palpable, certain. Finding a precise alignment to convey a path to the heart. Consider the curve of the slender gracilis muscle, like an unfurled ribbon crossing the inner hip and knee. An artifact of evolution, gracilis runs in a straight line in bent-knee quadrupeds. Read more