A Skirt with Tattered Edges

I had my first dream of motherhood in my childhood bed

Knew the weight of a distended belly, when I woke my braids were soaked in a cold sweat

I saw birthday candles melt, hair turning gray, my blood turning boy into man

And I never saw my mom that morning in the kitchen ever the same way again

——

Being a woman means knowing the world’s dying, but trying to enjoy the view

Wanting peace but fighting to find it when everyone you love lives outside of you

It’s growing into prey with a pocketbook guide to the beasts

Inherited from the ones who got close enough to draw them

From their scars, we learn how to sharpen our teeth

——

When I had my first dream of motherhood in the glow of a nightlight

I saw my mom’s strength in school drop-off,

Tearing her heart out of her body in that car line

If a child I’d imagined took a piece of my soul in only eight hours in a dream

My mom must spend each moment we’re not before her eyes deathly afraid of the beasts

——

Womanhood is sharp and it’s soft and it doesn’t apologize

It’s adaptive but bruised like a pear,

A survivor of history’s byline

It’s a skirt with tattered edges, feeding your pride to the dogs

Throwing yourself to tear into to give everyone you love

Just enough time to run