La cuna

By and | 3 February 2024

Mother has no baby
all the rocks are hollow

fears hushed to sleep
black and still as sonogram

Heartbeat an echo,
smoke between the boles

clothes burned, photos buried,
we feed holes in the ground.

Mother nurses herself, finds the fruit
returns home,

arms around the wind
little husks of existence.

What has been forgotten
mutilated, confused, sucked dry.

Sacrifice her love, how we ride the horse
a paradox since the beginning.

We live in her, braided into being,
we separate to find her and…

Once you…call her…
she absorbs you

Her own house of spawns
milk, blankets, kitchen, doctor’s waiting rooms,

Mother who does everything,
destroys everything…

And we never let her play.

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