What speck, what sun, what cluster became / what fig, what plum nestled in my trunk
They hadn’t seen me the day before: / free-climbing ballerina out of the music box
Anne Salzman Kurzweg
The smallness of / this long day, / minutes parceled out / by tweezer.
Her insistent tap tap tap on my arm /is a gentle yet unwelcome alarm, /yanking me from Morpheus’ embrace /and the blessed anaesthesia of sleep
And then you came and stuck, /expanding me like a swollen milkweed pod, / exiting me in a dark wave / on that winter’s first night of snow.
It’s like taking a Zumba class with Richard Simmons after a second cup of coffee. / It’s like shushing a marching band in the library.
Coriel O'Shea Gaffney
We should be getting a new tire today, / but we are driving slowly / to a farm in Queens instead / to see llamas and sheep, pumpkins and cornstalks. / I’m tired of being responsible.
Kara Gebhart Uhl
There was a time I could not fathom / her being able, allowed, to wander the house alone.
“Are you supposed to reduce them?” / I ask. // “No,” she says, “we didn’t learn / simplifying yet.”
His arms are outstretched in a cross, dropping / what could be stars through stick fingers. / The birds have yet to arrive, / the diamond shaped pellets continuing to drop onto the page.
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.