byJanice Gould
- My mother lay on her side to birth me.
This was millenia ago
when the earth was still fresh
with the energy of being.I was her first.
If any came before me
they were lies and unwanted.We are poor, I was hungry.
You can't imagine the places I've begged:
beaches, city streets, conference tables.
I will eat garbage,
but not from anyone's hand.We were poor, I was cold.
Mama made me a coat but no trousers.
People laughed at me.
I was angry.They joked about my sex,
said nasty things about my genitalia.
I became vengeful.Once I heard the moon whisper behind my back.
I scooped hot coals
and threw them in her fat face.
Sure it burned my hands -
but she is marked with permanent surprise.Another time the night began a rumor
that I'd hump anything that moved.
What did she know? When she opened her mouth to laugh
I pulled her tongue real hard.
She vomited a trail of stars no one can clean up.I know more than I can say!
No poetry exists that wasn't first on my lips.
I was a live seed planted by a woman
in another woman's womb.
All things insatiable belong to me.
From Beneath My Heart, Firebrand Books.