I unzip fava beans and pop
them out of their thick shells,
separating them from
what sustained their growth,
as my friend’s son chirps
in his newfound voice.
I palm each fat comma.
I want to fill the world
with daughters not my own
but ones who learn how
to braid, are mesmerized
by stones. Thank God I had
daughters, my mother
would repeat. Until she didn’t.
Some seeds beside ones
that look ready to burst
have shriveled up, my labor
for their flesh in vain.
Alyse Bensel’s poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Adroit Journal, Zone 3, Quarterly West, New South, Bone Bouquet, and elsewhere. She is the author of the poetry chapbooks Not of Their Own Making (dancing girl press) and Shift (Plan B Press) and serves as the Book Reviews Editor at The Los Angeles Review. A PhD candidate in creative writing at the University of Kansas, she lives in Lawrence.