Mommy's head lay
on heart's parallel
twixt rocky tent mountains,
each night,
where it had lain
in light's absence
muscles cupped round,
like clasped hands.
When she was born
she escaped
through
pelvic bone valley
into screaming light.
Each day
poverty and instinct
drove her to flat land
cutting money from ground
in the shape of tobacco.
Small women
looking like large birds
drug bundles in
from green fields,
arms stretched back
two wings,
raking splayed leaf tails
over dusty ground.
They hung
bright feathers
in slanted barns
to wither with
parched skin
in the sun
where mom toiled
pulling ripe melons and squash
from roped gardens.
She said it was
woman's duty
to helped feed her family,
whether by soft breast,
or hard garden hoe,
and to bear bloody fruit,
she plucked 9 of them
off uterine vines,
when ripe flesh fell,
womb pushing
molting birds
from their nests. |
Submission Name: Tobacco Birds
