Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

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The tangle of thin arms takes over
my garden, swollen with tomatoes.
Jalapeños descend, remnants
of flower cling to skin. In winter

I never imagine fertility
like this: a splintering fence
laced with leaves and droplets
of mottled gourds. I doubt

this bounty needs me to exist.
See the maple's canopy, long
removed from its planter's hand? There,
winged seeds hang poised for release:
a spiral of fluttering; and then
I feel the stirring, the first
movement, but it is not mine.

Laura Van Prooyen’s first book of poetry, Inkblot and Altar, was published by Pecan Grove Press. Recent work has appeared in Slate, The Greensboro Review, Blackbird, Sycamore Review, and Cimarron Review. She has been a recipient of fellowships from The Virginia Center for Creative Arts and The Ragdale Foundation and lives in Illinois with her husband and three young daughters.

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