I’ve considered motherhood
three times. Once, when a man made me
beg to be filled, and a baby didn’t seem so bad
with someone there to tell me what to do.

Once, when I watched a red fox den for
a month. The vixen, mother, as machine
as the man, but more. Every two hours,
she fed them a goose, a young skunk, many
rabbits, many mice, mouthfuls of unbroken
eggs, a long fish still flapping. Seven teats
stretched; she stood over her kits, selfless.
They sucked so hard her face blanked.
She’s tugged and yanked without resist,
the way every body moves as it is eaten.

And once, when I found a fawn by the river.
It was spring, it was still spotted, just curled
in the ferns, holes in the mud all around
him from bears digging the roots of jack
-in-the-pulpit. I just went weak for him.
I couldn’t leave him, then I did, and found
I was with child, found I wanted to
forget the child, and did, but could not, cannot
stop thinking about the deer.

 

—Jenna Rozelle

< BACK | NEXT >

TABLE OF CONTENTS