Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-two
Summer 2013
 
At First, the Baby
Kate Magnolia Glasgow

I have been watching water unfix itself for twenty minutes. I can no longer be generous in trust for myself. A Wandering, straying mistake: what a carriage brings. The baby is in the kitchen, dressed in bonnet lace. I wash each bottle, unscrewing and filling it full of steam. When rinsed, the milk and yeast is thick as blood and carries the smell. Solitude is a dream I was born into. A birth that is a process of testing. How long I can keep mocking myself by being alone, and enjoying it too much.

I take what I see and call it good but it is not good. I take up the belief and surrender to it. A gasp. What feels like a lashing in a sound mind and body may not influence action. A woman awaits death in the body’s full acceptance. A call upon a delivery formed against my womb. It is really a type of light that I’m always looking for. A practical reality. One that puts you to sleep while you gleam. How well you shine calls attention to the original self. What now is not worthy of blame.

About Kate Magnolia Glasgow

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