Anahera Gildea
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in reaction
i know you
exhaustion
muttering, bemoaning:
the end of the world
the shitty weather
– look a dead flower;
a shrunken dog.
and i know you
expectation
temperate, continuous:
your effortless sky
salting with rain
a whole damn flower patch
of lolloping dogs.
but i don’t know you child
your roomy intrusion
stubborn, relentless
in our a.m. world
concealed from weather
unremedied by flowers
absent of dogs.
hour by hour I become your mother.
