by Karen An-Hwei Lee
For all mujeres, I hold a cluster of yellow-eyed daisies
lest one day my soul, too, contort in pain.
Rain is colostrum rich. A new moon sips thin
clean milk from a young mother, antibodies
in a dialogue of water & soul brushed with salt paste
as I gather the rueful birthing, what is
labor effacing the moon’s delicate edge, uterine
thin so the child’s head, enormous as a buried world
passes light paper chrysanthemums near a sacral cassia
thicketed outside windows, yes, slate azure
sea of rains, mare imbrium – implausible terra
new world wailing the lunar blue of life.
[...] featuring my poetry in her publication, Zócalo Public Square. Zócalo refers to the old historic heart of Mexico [...]
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