Images
Burn my enlarged
Pupils
Like lights too
Bright
Shining on
My privellege and me
Righteously indignant
I’d like to slap her face
Scream
What kind of mother are you
your Children
Buried alive
In kashmir
Soft and lush
Flailing
floating
in
cups of water
left
on your bedside
Poor mama
Exhausted
groaning
stripped maternal
nature
a version of
Your hands
Push mud slime
slides down
efficent burial for
Tomorrows hope
Amidst touristhippies
smoking pot
Aititlan’s deep
Obscured by
Your children
stacked
One atop one
Huddling together for warmth
What kind of mother are you?
I admonish
Admist rumours of
Giraffe chemotherapy.
4 comments:
Money, especially the end.
And so, what kind of mother are you?
The kind who struggles to balance her humanity, her identity and her maternity.
But also someone who believes that motherhood belongs to all women.
Hey, sort of like you do.
:)
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