Cave Canem by Mia Avramut
I. When the men return They say where’s the babe. When men return they’re other men. She wears her damp postpartum with veiled embroidered boredom. They seek fresh heirs. There is but one, spall of her rib. Lust vortex in chafed smell bores this acrimonious birthing. Slick caul shrill bloodroot blossoms shout from her rudimentary outward creation. “Ghost husbands of my fantasy, It is for you, one of you, that I bore this.” Widow bereaved of afterbirth gone glimmers much too violin much too loins hears the cries: “We’ve far arrived covered in static snow. His name shall be January third.” Will he survive this winter? Lock the gate, sweet somber, sweet mother!
Santa Fe Literary Review
99