I turn animal, cannot know my own body
it bloats and hums, fills with blood.
As Plath said, I’m on a train, window world
blurring. A fast moving train that pulls a cart
of farm animals, goats and cows, a corral
pumping low moans and milk.
away and crash
the black sky
a wise woman warns me – success is vicious. no use in measure, some mama is ever more amorous, wise, warm. i see errors ever over. i am unsure. a new maze. nervous, no armor on me now. a son’s cries wear me. mix me. a wise woman is rescuer, servant, savior. a wise mama’s arms are rivers, can cease a son’s cries. some answer or manna arrives. we are near wise now, nearer, even in our insecure wavers, errors we unmeasure success, an erasure, no an immersion”
Rebekah Denison Hewitt lives outside of Madison, Wisconsin with her family. She works as a librarian and is an assistant editor at Orison Books. Her work has appeared recently in The Rumpus, Gulf Stream, and Narrative. You can connect with her at www.rebekahdenisonhewitt.com.