By Heather Foster. Posted in Issue Three and Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

You who didn’t begin
a stubborn girl, a cell
in my side, membrane
only your father
could cross, only once,
twinning butterfly,
gill-slit primitive,
cluster of grapes,
snowflake paper cutout
unfolding near
infinity. Not in me.
Would you satisfy
the primal?
Could you fool
the lizard brain?
One day, October gray,
you diapered, bibbed,
strapped in the ebony high chair,
black hair squash-smeared—
will I, seeing nothing
of myself in your face,
think how unremarkable,
think what have I done?

● ● ●

Heather Foster lives on a farm in Tennessee and dreams of owning a housebroken pig named Pigstachio. She’s an MFA candidate in poetry at Murray State University. Her poems and stories are featured in PANK, Monkeybicycle, Anderbo, Lumberyard, Cutthroat, and damselfly,> among other journals.

[back to top]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>