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The International Mothers Network
The Council of Literary Magazines and Presses
She was born, when time had stretched like a muscle, contracted and hung, contracted and hung
I don’t mean to tell such sad stories.
I am tipsy. It is day four of my period.
I birthed a milky clump,
a marble with fur
There is no more room for swimming
The channels of motherhood
At the sink washing dishes
I almost believed
I was a mother
you would have been
another beautiful disaster
my body couldn’t bear