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.