from A Blackberry Rearing
Lori Mosley

Within the trash tree line
I lay in wait for the Plymouth
to arrive in need aplenty or in a fit of mother

a tabby she stroked
a whirligig spun
the screen slung to hanging fern
to porch couch
at her heels before stepping inside
the slow roll of stockings downturned
my wrinkled brow smooth kneaded
noxzema whorled cheeks
mine hands wrung and laundered
a hollerin

A pluck of white clover: mama    A pluck: no mama

Keep watch for the ways of the mother
are unknown / but she was near
and I’d soon be unalone
and bones would be made

O / to be not
As the unmade but the unworn: a tadpole agullyfloat