Mothers Who Carry Their Own Water by Gerda Govine Ituarte


“Mothers Who Carry Their Own Water” by Gerda Govine Ituarte


When there is no well land is parched
mouth dusty skin cracked
bloody fingers plant roses

Mothers who carry their own water
are viewed with discomfort
curtains of words fall

I don’t know what to say time heals all
whispers trail behind like tails
a reminder of what could happen to them

Mothers who carry their own water
live through in under around
the death of their children how

They never ask why
lean on winds of change
find warmth in cold places

Push through survival to thrive
learn to move beyond black and white
traverse shades of gray

refuse to stay stuck in grave
dig deep for well


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Gerda Govine Ituarte Artist Statement:

Her work appeared in The Altadena Poetry Review Anthology, Coiled Serpent, Journal of Modern Poetry, Indefinite Space, Spectrum, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Dryland Los Angeles Arts and Letters, Ms. Aligned and Frontera Esquina Magazine in Tijuana, Mexico. She read at Lit Crawl L.A, Avenue 50 Studio, The World Stage, Holy Grounds, The Coffee Gallery Backstage, Tia Chucha Cultural Center & Bookstore, Altadena and Pasadena Libraries and in Canada, Colombia, Cuba, Mexico and the UK. She self-published two poetry collections, “Oh,Where is My Candle Hat?” (2012) and “Alterations |Thread Light Through Eye of Storm,”

Author: A Room of Her Own

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