Mother

West of Everything Else

Look at you, Eve,
On the edge of your world
Quiet in the wind
You’re a pregnant girl

And your son is a murderer
Your daughter a whore
Your grandson the father
Of a billion more

Your daughter’s a poet
You are her muse
And she can write away
Mankind’s abuse

And your son’s a farmer
And that prairie there
He can clear out the brush
Plant food everywhere

And your grandson’s a prophet
A mad lovely jewel
He can save ten billion
By acting a fool

And you are my mother
Somewhere I’m there
Between your dirty bare toes
And your wild-smelling hair

I stretch from the grass
From the pollen and spores
See your wet eyes
Touch your fingers once more

Surrender to the wind
I fall across the sea
Where death, life, and death
Will work its way to me

 

-Jared St. Martin Brown

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11 thoughts on “Mother

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