Tag: mother

My mother spoke in tongue | Deborah Ramos

~ South Broadway Press ~ Leave a comment
Image: Cathy Williams

My mother spoke in tongue

to confuse the devil.
She put on her armor, opened the bible,
and pounded the pages flat with her feverish brow.

In the small morning hours,
she called Jesus from the cross,
the sun just rising beyond the orange tree.
She fought Satan all through the night
behind the locked bedroom door.
I heard the dreadful cries.
I begged her to come out, step into the light.

I tempted her with Body of Christ chips.
I offered a goblet of consecrated wine.
But she remained hostage
within the walls of her own madness.
“My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust”,
she screamed, pounding her head on that fucking bible.

She couldn’t catch hold of reality,
so I tossed a net into the river of no edges, no bottom.
She gave herself to the water,
wings folded against her beaten body.
My bloody hands of rebirth
drew her into the womb of my arms.

Eyes dark in their sockets,
I held a mother’s heart close to mine.
We rocked until her spirit washed clean.
We rocked until she found peace in the end of the world.
We rocked until she saw the face of her weeping daughter.

Deborah Ramos, a San Diego artist and poet, is the author of from the earthen drum of my body. Deborah is a graduate of San Diego State University, where she studied art, textiles, costume design and history of theatre. Deborah writes about the sacred feminine, primal desires, roadkill and her cats. Her poetry has appeared in SageWoman, Rattlesnake Press, Dancing Goddess, National Beat Anthology, Border Voices, Fuck Isolation Anthology, Literary Sexts, San Diego’s Writers Ink, and more. Deborah’s creative life includes traveling, writing, exhibiting her art and photography, as well as hosting Poets at the Grove readings in Balboa Park.

The Fertile Tree | Diana Kurniawan

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Image: Joshua Cotten

The Fertile Tree

On barren land at the corner

—————————of a long constant highway 

The Good Samaritan guards 

–————————-a tree of sparse green leaves

A most desired nesting point 

————————— for the American finch across

this homeland of Colorado

– ————————–A mother of homeless avian

The unmarried tree stands tall

————- – — – —–despite the dry gritty street

Finches flock to this virgin mother

————————- the kindling of all avian children

As the single woman without

———————– – –true love nor a loving partner

The tree reminds of the strength

————————- of women with dignified values

Preserving those around her life

—————- – – – —-with a fecund heart and soulful tears

Valor of hopeful spirit undefeated 

———- ——— —– Spiritual Mother of all children forever

Diana Kurniawan is a poet and writer based in Berthoud, Colorado. With by lines from Denver Life Magazine and Longmont Times Call for non-fiction journalistic pieces, she also previously served as Community Journalist for Denver Voice, a newspaper for the homeless. Recent publications include Twenty Bellows and Sortes Magazine for fiction and Ridgeline Review of Eastern New Mexico University and RawLit for her poetry in Spring 2023.

The Mother of the Oxford English Dictionary // Allison Maschhoff

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Image: Quino

The Mother of the Oxford English Dictionary

BY ALLISON MASCHHOFF

mother, n.

definition a.

The female parent of a human being; [2]

as in the one who feeds you with her chest, the one who housed you next to her most sacred innards, the one your eyes search for as you cry.

a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth; [3]

            the unparalleled truth of motherhood: only one person will ever birth you.

the unbearable truth of motherhood: no world she births you into will as be as safe as the one she made.

(also in extended use) a woman who undertakes the responsibilities of a parent toward a child [4]

every place that has ever felt like a second home to me has had the influence of a woman who houses the strength and presence of a whirlwind framing everything from the door to the walls to my heart.

[2] [3] [4] from the Oxford English Dictionary

Allison Maschhoff is a creative writing MFA student at the University of Missouri, Kansas City. Her poetry has been published in The Blue Route, Green Blotter, Windfall, and Better Than Starbucks. She also writes fiction. You can find links to her work at www.allisonmaschhoff.com or follow @allison.maschhoff on Instagram.

This poem is from South Broadway Press’ new anthology, 
Dwell: Poems About Home. Purchase here.