postpartum

fetal cells
remain in a mother’s body for decades
they know this
particularly
because of mothers of sons

son cells discovered
co-mingling in their mother’s
blood
and marrow
long after their first breaths of atmosphere
and for far too many mothers,
long after their child’s last

we mothers, in-secret chimeras
29, 50,
years after birthing /

no wonder

he breathes
1,191.582 miles away from me

as the crow flies,
as the monarch flies
as the hummingbird flies

and still, i feel the cells of gold i alchemized

for 42 strange, wondrous weeks

in my crone bones

postpartum is forever

Continue reading “postpartum”

goldilocks’ zone

the widespread muck,
usual to late March
now spoils the January, the December, February too

there are no more
seasons,

only drownt
or parched

what use
is axial tilt, solar distance
while these men
lock-up the thermostat and disarrange the elements

Continue reading “goldilocks’ zone”

& answered

the kind of god who made
a predator, at all
a carnivore, at all
and worst, of all

a two-legged omnivore
that must char his stone-killed and -cut meat over flinted fire
to choke it down his gullet,
that cloaks himself in the hide and fur and skin and silk of killed, dead things,
that rises in the morning to mine forests, coal, ore, and ancient dead things
to form and forge steel
for his sole animus

theft, consumption and death

of land, women and children,

that’s who.

preparation

she counted propane canisters
for her two Mr. Heaters
put batteries in her camp lanterns — circa 2004,
set out votive and prayer candles, matches and lighters,

worked past midnight
to empty, wash, fill or refill glass wine bottles with water for drinking, teeth-brushing, cooking

that is the advantage of the white wine screw cap bottles
p.s. VOGA pinot grigio is unrivaled for this use
she’s saved them over the months for this sole purpose, those Italians sure know what they’re doin’

she rotated supply: filled buckets with the previously stored precious water,
placed them in the bathtubs for toilet flushing
and in Igloo jugs
for hand and face washing
& dishwashing

(and, hoe baths too)

this beautiful welled water, pumped from 75 feet below the surface, 10 feet of clay and 65 of sand, her friend once researched county well drill permit records for her.

she made a pot of marinara, boiled 3 lbs of potatoes, planned for pancakes, printed out dutch oven bread recipes,

she set out the dog’s paw wax and his wardrobe of coats,

she refreshed her vintage wool blankets on low heat with honeysuckle-infused dryer sheets,

found her favorite j. crew wool men’s sweater, moss green — circa 1999, which reminded: she best learn some knitting – for repairs and darning, at the very least, the cuff seam is unraveling, but, my god, it’s so warm.

she filled all the bird feeders before sunset, although she’s spotted deer at them at twilight and midnight — using their tongues to excavate the seed,

she set the snow shovel and outdoor broom just outside, beside her back door

all this,

just in case

freezing lines and tree limbs knock the power out

and Lake Effect drifts become temporarily insurmountable

she’s always prepared, she always knows what to do

or can generally figure it out, figure a way out of it – and, without GPS

except:

what to do in

a genocide and in climate collapse.

Continue reading “preparation”

“wolf”

for the One and Only

Lajuana Lampkins

March 29, 1957 ~ February 26, 2025

May Allah grant her Jannah

& for All the Mothers whose children were — and will be murdered by the State — domestic or foreign, & for All Mothers who have lost — and will lose their children to the brutal and carceral machinations and institutions of the State

Weighing of the Heart | Book of the Dead
Thoth and Anubis weigh the candidate’s heart against the feather of Ma’at while Ammit hungrily awaits the judgment.
Inside Ancient Egypt exhibit,
Field Museum of Natural History,
Chicago, January 2013
photo: by author

she cries “wolf!” so often
that it becomes tempting to ignore

yet the wolves were always nearby,
stalking, steady clawing at her door

there’s a Wolf curled up at her feet now,
but he’s not of the pack of violent beasts,

you see, this Wolf is not a hungried one,
and He does not want her for his feast

Anubis is the Wolf’s name,
and He waits to gently weigh her Heart

on the Golden Scales of Justice
He’s balanced with a badge and service glock,

these reparations just for her, and Mothers like her,
in lieu of the Feather of Ma’at

Continue reading ““wolf””