I am not mother

birthed of ghost voice. pool of placenta and lavender. made by
a bottomed-out graveyard. I am not mother.
not avocado bearer. just thread and spindle. all needle and chaos.
carry me to the creek. scalpel twice to open. bring me back to god.
To God. I am not mother. come hurricane or holy
water. my belly bleached into one thousand brides. primrose sewed
to my teeth. the smell of scarlet has me weeping into the curtains.
the river cycles sideways. mixed mania. roots cling to prayer.
I am not mother. say, the stars sing as if every song
was an obituary. tell me I am dark river. choke out my blessing.
suffocate me in honeysuckle. my alive being soft spit fire. brand
my daughter with velvet. bloom back to when I forgave myself.
me, but in pieces. I am not mother dried and dry heaving.
cracked pie tins. parched plants are begging. I have already told
the pastor. I informed the elderly. I am not mother.
and when at my funeral you see carcasses made of every
goodbye letter that I did not send. do not toast to goodbyes.
do not use the pay phone to call home. home has always woven
itself inside of you. I am not mother. I am not
home. only god speaks slowly. without ever burying her voice.

Author: Katie pukash

Katie Pukash is a writer and poet based in Boise, Idaho. Her work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, Ink&Nebula, The Rising Phoenix Review, among others. She has received 2019 Best of the Net Anthology nomination for her poem, ‘Curtain Call’. She has also represented Idaho as a member of Team Boise at the National Poetry Slam in 2013, 2014, and 2018.

 

artist: Baden wolfe

 

Baden Wolfe demonstrates a breathtaking balance of landscape and female photography that instills wonder and awe. instead of choosing to photograph either landscape or the female form he has created a new category that makes you contemplate an image much like you would your own reflection in the mirror. embrace your shadow self.