Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Second Harvest

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she is such a tiny bud, raw
with winter's scrubbed potential, born to high winds
to parents of dune thistle
grandparents of red baneberry
lost in a rough country of ancestry
not recognizing oak from aspen
from elder

i want to bring her baskets of our fruit
crops of blackberries or little wild strawberries just plump enough
to crush between teeth, to burst open and stain the lips
i want them tart with her lineage,
of who she was grown to be
of how she was rooted a thousand years ago

and i am no master gardener
unskilled at pruning or coaxing bud to blossom
i can't tell sly weed from straining sapling
except for this one
glorious shoot

so go ahead, dance, little one
let your bare toes take root everywhere they will
let the wind shake loose your laughter
like seeds
and let it
settle, fatten, sprout,
and seek new sun

this is no longer
my harvest

Rene Simon is a 48-year-old mother, artist, and writer of African, Native, and European-American descent. She has been writing poetry since teenage angst first hit at age eleven. She loves the capacity of words to evoke visceral responses in an audience. She also adores clothing with stripes, giraffes, and coffee-flavored caffeine. She has been published in the Terra Preta Review, The Green Light Literary Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Blue Literary Journal. She is currently living in Madison, WI with her partner, teenage daughter, and four unruly little dogs.

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This is a gift Rene! Keep writing and keep sharing.
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