Wendy Wisner is the author of two books of poems, Epicenter and Morph and Bloom. Her third book, The New Life, was recently published by Cornerstone Press/University of Wisconsin Stevens-Point. Wendy’s essays and poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Spoon River Review, The Washington Post, Lilith Magazine, and elsewhere.



Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry: First Love

November 13, 2024

Wendy Wisner

If Mother



If mother is an idea. You will protect me, you’ll know how to keep me safe. If mother is a body. You will be planted, nourished. You will grow. If mother is a woman. If the woman is constructed of crumpled tissues, sunken couches. If the woman dreams of the door unlocked, the latch just dangling there. If the father enters the dream. If the heft of his body against the door. If she decides she must live in the attic, a bowl of fake fruit on the table. If she finds her daughter in that attic, apple in hand, ready to bite. If the mother behind the daughter screaming NO. If the screams. If the mother. If the idea of mother. I will not harm you. I won’t infuse your blood with my fears. If mother means chaos. If chaos is comfort. If the mother in her housedress standing in a pool of urine. I’m tired now. I need you to leave. If you leave. If you mother the mother who never mothered you. If your lips on her cheek as you go. If the moon, low-hanging, orange and swollen, as you drive home.



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