Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Stone Fruit

No comments

Mother braved the ward with a bag of blue plums
while you ran to ground like a hunted fox.

Blood pulsed in dark flanks over far fields,
a mess of costive roots, the sky sweating salty rain.

I could eat no plum, nor any stone fruit.

Mother ballyhooed the hunt,
wiping the wetness from her chin.

I marveled at the pain's rigor,
the chase after a wild, terrified thing

and yielded up a tender pit, a torn cry, fugacious love.

For years I'd feel the afterbirth
squeezed from my flesh like warm plum juice.


Carol Alexander is the author of the poetry collections Environments (Dos Madres Press, 2018) and Habitat Lost (Cave Moon Press, 2017). Her chapbook, Bridal Veil Falls, is published by Flutter Press. Alexander’s poems appear in a variety of anthologies and journals, most recently Belletrist, Bluestem, Cumberland River Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, The Matador Review, One and Third Wednesday.


More from



Comments are now closed for this piece.