Mother

You were robed, you were
sinking
when I found you on the porch
soft body spilling, spine pressed
against the leg of a weatherproof chair.
Ice cubes dissolving in an empty glass.

You’d done away with language,
unlit cigarette limp
in your lazy mouth,
and your eyes weren’t closed,
and you weren’t ashamed.

 

M. Johnsen has an M.A. in English from the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College. She has also attended The Kenyon Review Writers Workshop. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic, Calamus Journal, SiDEKiCK, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Virga Magazine and Mortar Magazine. 

Willawaw Journal

Share
Published by
Willawaw Journal

Recent Posts

Willawaw Journal Fall 2024 / Issue 19

‌ Sarah Barton--Zhen Xian Bao 31. Rives BFK, chiyogami, paste paper, origami paper, inks. 10”x…

3 months ago

Notes from the Editor

Dear Readers, I was almost waylaid by a corgi at the market this morning, nearly…

3 months ago

Rose Mary Boehm

The Mood Turns The swifts have weaned their young and those the cat didn’t get…

3 months ago

Ed Brickell

Passing All Understanding We bargain for peace meeting our understanding, Unaware of the need to…

3 months ago

Jeff Burt

Stones Rise Skimming the edge of an esker, gravel crunched by boots, immature red polyps…

3 months ago

John Paul Caponigro

Abandon Ship Every voyage to Antarctica begins with an alarm, for a drill on how…

3 months ago