This poem is taken from Stand 232, 19(4) December 2021 - February 2022.
Two Poems
Sitting Moon
they say not to worry, milk will flow, and so you wait at the edge of birth, blankets folded down,
buttons undone, his new name beneath your tongue like alleluia
then in the blue seam of the third night it wells up like a moan, draws you terrifying and taut, warm
bowl, fossil and silverskin, fullness and flow
...
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