Kirsten Kaschock

Women I am not allowed to write about

The woman who drowned five children
in a bathtub (she had to chase down the one)

did so because they were eating her.

The way I see it, she—anyone—
has the two choices: kill, or
be happily devoured
and go on—fully
mother, phantom else.

Other women poets have drawn
the horror—
the day in, out—in such clean
hand, no need have I here. We
can love the brutal
spawn, can love the underteeth
that bruise and gum the mythic breast
but not all of us
can dull our eyes when gnawed
upon. Some
dip hands in the red
and let their eyes grow too bright to take.

Kirsten Kaschock sometimes sleights at Negative Wingspan which is where this poem first appeared.

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Blogger na said...

To read this poem is to fall in love with it.

I love it!

5:12 AM  

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