Uncharted
I ate this, didn’t eat
that, recited mantra
sat in sukhasana, soaked
red nettles and yellow dock
to make my earth rich.
That was the easy part.
Who are you?
A mother should know.
I don’t, I swear. I know
things about you but
these are just things
I could pack into a box:
tiny socks, Magic cards,
whelk-white teeth I kept
like wampum. But you
who sail rooftops
and smell like cinnamon,
who are you? One day
your cells split and drifted
off into a foreign self,
a thunder, a sovereign acre,
magnificent, blizzarding.
3 replies on “Uncharted”
I’m sending this to my dear friend in Australia. She has a son Jack’s age who is traveling Western Europe with his mates before they go into university next year.
The best thing I can imagine! Thank you Jean.
I too have tiny white teeth and socks we put on Graham’s tiny hands…in a box! Just breathtaking, Marietta. Your poem is tugging at all the emotions that matter to me. Thank you so much for sharing this. xoox (Tissue box where are you?!!!)
Janet