You were the size of an orange seed
to see on an ultrasound.
as the steps of birds over snow
then cramps and large
for days, blooming in the toilet bowl
Today my body does not want to write poetry.
Leta Rebecca Cunningham
if i have a daughter,
if she is anything like me—
“I want her back when you’re done.”
Her name will be Victoria. Blond hair and pointy chin and please
Blood test. Missing chromosome. Likely to miscarry.
You are still a secret.
Imagine life in outer space is watching you;
Sleep, like love, never comes when you ask it to.
It’s not just the spill. It’s
I sent him off to school
Jeannie E. Roberts
Ammonite lobes and saddles coil
We publish poetry that has some element of the unexpected–whether it’s the language, the imagery, or the emotion—yet feels honest. Do you have a poem that acknowledges the intensity of motherhood? Read more about submitting your work here.