In Which a Mother Smokes Marijuana

After the blood appeared, small spots of uncertainty

After the first slice through the fleshy abdomen

After pacing, smoking, waiting

After the wound widened, the womb exposed

After a year of hope, of almost normal

After a visit to Florida, to her husband’s brother

and his wife, palm-treed roads, sun a helmet,

laughter slapped among waves

After the doctor again, the body mapped,

the body exposed, poisoned with hope

After the pills, the vomiting, tiger-clawed, ripped

The uncle gets it, a small bag, rolled with

clumsy fingers, the smoke inhaled

After she coughs, her eyes tear, she bends

double, cannot bear weed, air, anything



Judy Kaber's poems have appeared in Eclectica, Ekphrasis, Off the Coast, The Comstock Review, and The Guardian. Contest credits include the Maine Postmark Poetry Contest, the Larry Kramer Memorial Chapbook Contest, and, most recently, second place in the 2016 Muriel Craft Bailey Poetry Contest. She lives in Maine.