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untitled [us mothers who don't birth]

 the womb

has always been empty

but my home

has been filled up with plenty

 

carried life

ripened long but not ready

to become

with no hand to hold steady

 

i lend my back

it's strong enough to carry

you far

as the wind gods will send me

 

these bones

made to brave the unfriendly

that when cracked

tumble soft and mend gently

 

i crumble

with a softness that i've practiced

so often

like an old down feather mattress

 

sing your pain

down in lullaby distraction

spend the day

ducking shadows of the madness

 

the womb

has always been friendly

and a host

to your resentful dependency

 

i'm spent down

to the last copper penny

a mother i become

to have you only temporarily.

thy nguyen