There was a mother. She had a child. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She raised a child. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She bore a child. She bore a second child. She held the first child, and she
held the second child. She watched them grow. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She was shucked like an oyster. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She dug in the earth. She washed little feet. She braided hair. She cupped
small faces in her palms. She packed snacks. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She worked. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She was tired. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She woke up. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She was bored at the playground. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She had children. She gave them the ripest fruit, leaving none for herself.
She loved her life.
There was a mother. She had children. She re-drew herself. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She was carried forward like sand. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She had a child. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She did back-of-the envelope calculations. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She filled out forms. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She glinted like the ocean. She loved her life.
There was a mother. She surfaced like wood. She loved her life.
There was a mother. They were wrong. She loved her life.
There was a mother.
A mother.
A mother.
A mother.
A mother.
A mother.
She loved her life.
Copyright © 2024 by Angela Veronica Wong. Used with the permission of the author.
Once, you had gills
and lived in the water
of my body. While I
planned for you, put
sugar in a dish to attract
all that’s sweet, sang
along with Billie Holiday
so you’d know sway.
But you were already
poetry, the meter
of my heart in harmony
with yours, their iambic
fits and the pentameter
of my gait, my sleeping
breath. Oh, to keep
you there, steady
beat of life and coming
to know the power
of opening your eyes.
Each day now I soothe
your skin with peony
cream where it grows
coarser by the day,
I shield the summer
sun from your eyes
and blow your tender
head where it’s become
wet from the heat, I teach
you to keep yourself
buoyant on the waves
so one day you can find
and thrive in the sea again.
Copyright © 2023 Emily Schulten. Originally appeared in Kenyon Review (Summer, 2023). Reprinted by permission of the author.