Poems Rethabile Likes

Does God have a listening device? by Abigail George | Poems Rethabile Likes Does God have a listening device? by Abigail George because you are a drug addict because you are a thief because you are promiscuous and you told your boyfriend to tell my brother that he, the guy you were seeing, had a gun You abandoned the child left your daughter with her paternal grandmother You're so bad that you were in my brother's bed the night your mother died Your sisters cared and cooked for her while my brother gave you pleasure, you moaned into the darkness, into the half-light, as the silvery moonlight covered the...

Dear Mother by Abigail George | Poems Rethabile Likes Dear Mother by Abigail George (For Wesonge Shariif) Dear Mother, You are memory and you are Mary You are Jesuit Priest on the moon When you were a daughter, before you married, met your Boaz You were Ruth You have the wisdom of Oprah Winfrey In the words of Maya Angelou, You are a phenomenal woman You are a talk show host Yes, you are my tea, you are universe You are my skein Yes, you are my spool of thread In my hands you are a photograph album You are a diary You are May Sarton's and my journal of empt...

Other women don't tell you by Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach | Poems Rethabile Likes Other women don't tell you by Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach it's a battle for the body, for every part of it, he's all you, some say, he has your eyes, and others, he has your hair, look at those curls, and you let them twist around your finger, vine tendrils more plant than boy, more wild than will, more him than you, but it's a battle for ownership, for claiming the body you left him with as yours, and when you tell your mom he rode the escalator up and down, repeating "Whoaaaaa" in fascination at each descent away ...

Morning Song by Sylvia Plath | Poems Rethabile Likes Morning Song by Sylvia Plath Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square Whitens and swallows i...

To Katharine: At Fourteen Months by Joelle Biele | Poems Rethabile Likes To Katharine: At Fourteen Months by Joelle Biele All morning, you've studied the laws— of spoons, the rules of books, the dynamics of the occasional plate, observed the principles governing objects in motion and objects at rest. To see if it will fall, and if it does, how far, if it will rage like a lost penny or ring like a Chinese gong—because it doesn't have to—you lean from your chair and hold your cup over the floor. It curves in your hand, it weighs in your palm, it arches like a wave, it is a dipper full of stars, and you're the wind timing...