my mandibles as serrated as my remarks / about the life she chose—she flies backwards.
Kristen Staby Rembold
feeling married and enclosed / as rain flecks our windows, // lashing the car, the road, the grasses, / the bright and hot transformed
Julia Smuts Louw
For now, we are returned to nature: he is wanted, he wants not.
let your bare toes take root everywhere they will / let the wind shake loose your laughter
the left pea pod is asleep / they are craters on the dead / surface of the moon / or maybe they are tiny / mouths of goldfish
I am spatched flat, / leeched and rasped / by the shape life now / will never take.
She is a wisp / of skin over hollow bones, / a ribcage like harp strings / holding her wild-beating heart, / scapulae jutting like vestigial wings, / fingers and toes long as claws / she still doesn’t quite fit.
Elaine Fowler Palencia
But listen to me, going on. / It’s just that / the less you understand, / the more I want to tell you, / before you’re all gone.
Teach her what to do when she loses you. / Don’t say Heaven. You don’t believe it, / neither will she. Say anything but sleep.
You believe in fairies / and leprechauns. / You believe birds / can fly to space.
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.