The Dreaming by Ruth Thompson
“The Dreaming” by Ruth Thompson The princess Briar Rose, her mother the Queen, and all the court fall into sleep with the pricking of a finger. The crone, the dark fairy, also sleeps. They dream. 1. The Queen’s Dream When her daughter was born the queen vanished. Now she stands in her husband’s hall. She opens her mouth and flames pour out. All the court burns; the king goes up like kindling. Ah, I’m a...
The Daughter Walk by Sheila Bender
“The Daughter Walk” by Sheila Bender For Kathryne Kent We live on a circle, our mothers’ houses just to the west of our own. We carry casseroles to them, newspapers, print outs of family email, prunes to stew, brooms to sweep out the corners. Our feet crunch over their crushed gravel driveways as the sun rises behind us, sets in front of our eyes. ____________________ Share your response to this...
Honey by Margaret Chula
“Honey” by Margaret Chula I dream that I visit Mother in the last days of her life as she lies in bed naked, comfortable being naked as she never was when she was alive, her back tan and supple like Katherine Hepburn’s in The Philadelphia Story and I’m naked too as we compare bellies—how our fat is below our belly buttons, not above like a shelf that can fold over things and hold them fast, and she looks down...
Poem for My Mother by Mary Elise Bailey
“Poem for My Mother” by Mary Elise Bailey There’ll be no cups of coffee here, no rituals, no book-talk—this time, even our voices will be new. There’ll be no mother-daughter, here, where memory has slipped away and hidden, like a stubborn child we won’t follow: let her go. Just give us a goldfinch, somewhere not too distant, a bright shade of blue, our feet together, walking a path whose details we won’t...
Tissue by Berwyn Moore
“Tissue” by Berwyn Moore for my mother, Connie Moore As though to convince us she’s still game, my mother pulls from her coat pocket a lemon, blue with mold, and tosses it, a perfect serve, to the ceiling. Her eyes glimmer, for just a moment, and she’s back on the court, thirty-love, muscles poised to swing, but the lemon thuds to the...
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The Q: Imagine what would change if we cast aside our lines to swim in mother waters.
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