Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Mothership

Why shouldn't I speak
stars into being?
I am mothership,
nest, and egg.
The plastic birth
of the smallest hours -
stacked stones
of a thousand deaths.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

13 comments:

Buddah Moskowitz said...

Enigmatic - either that, or I'm too obtuse to understand. Still, it's always fun to read you.

Kerry O'Connor said...

I am mothership,
nest, and egg.

Wow... just amazing.

Ω said...

Mother's/hip. VERY clever.

This rips at my soul:
"The plastic birth
of the smallest hours"

Until you fill a plastic (Easter) egg, it's empty. I see the "smallest hours" as describing the hours of work you put in as a mother that no one sees or appreciates. Also, if it's hiding "the smallest ours," you're talking about how little actually belongs to a mother. (Also how "small" mom and dad's relationship becomes.) Not even her children are really hers. She's only growing them up to leave her.

Stones don't speak. The pain of generations of mothers sometimes doesn't speak. There's a certain hardness you have to find and bury yourself in if you're going to survive this job. You also have to let (at least) a thousand things die that you want or hope for. The stones may represent the things you've given up, to work that mother's hip the way you do. Yours, which came from your own mother's, and hers before that. You're paying homage to the past.

You're also saying that mothers are almost an alien race.

Too, you're starting out with a grandiose, almost self-worshiping kind of tone, as if proud of your accomplishments and status. But then it quickly turns, hinging on the word "plastic." There's a sort of fakery, or cover-up, involved in really committing to being Mom.

razzamadazzle said...

Wow! I love this! It's been way too long since I came to read your poetry.

gillena cox said...

nest, and egg.
The plastic birth

My appraisal was not as intense but these two like struck me as being very crucial

Much love...

Sioux said...

You had me at the first four lines. In fact, you slayed me with them...

Kim Russell said...

I'm with you! Why should mothers 'speak stars into being'? We do! This is a stellar poem :)

Marian said...

Plastic birth!

Helen said...

Your poems are brilliant!

Rommy said...

I love the grandiosity of the start, and how it deflates with the inclusion of the world plastic.

Outlawyer said...

You should speak stars into being (and do.) k.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

Oh, was it a metaphor for motherhood? Perhaps I would have seen that eventually – or perhaps not. But I like SF, and also to see God as Goddess, so I loved the narrator on both those levels.

Fireblossom said...

I don't understand the end, but the first 4 lines are very cool. I hadn't realized i had missed or not commented on so many poems and for so long a time. I'm sorry, dear co-author. I just don't come on line as much anymore, but I never mean to miss what you write.