Browsing the "Poetry" Category

Body

Advent 2020

December 21st, 2020 | by Ezra Stone

ONE: A wave of grief for everything that came before  Today, the clouds are like ribs, like my ribs close


Poetry

Ginny Wiehardt on KNIFE SKILLS

October 23rd, 2020 | by Ginny Wiehardt

‘Knife Skills’(After a BBC documentary on postpartum OCD) They gleamed at her from kitchen drawers, reflecting the self she feared,


Poetry

Your Mother Is Brave

July 23rd, 2020 | by Edvige Giunta

At seventeen I defied the fascist youth on the streets of Catania, brandishing a piece of paper. I left home, country, language, family.


Poetry

SAHM: In Three Poems

July 16th, 2019 | by Ellie Hudson

“Identity” I have to decide if I am the type of mom who waits ‘til bedtime and secretly reads the


Poetry

The Final Trimester

June 28th, 2019 | by Jennie Meyer

By Jennie Meyer out of seventy-six or so, if you consider that the ‘fourth trimester’ suggests they are really quarters,


Body

POEMS by KUO ZHANG

February 11th, 2019 | by Kuo Zhang

Pregnancy I have known the secret joy of pregnancy, clip-clop of heartbeats in duet, high-fives across the belly, a mini-stove



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  • “Having my adult child at home has changed how we relate to each other. I have to keep reminding myself that I am no longer in charge of his life.” “Back when Dylan was 16 and should have been getting his driver’s license, he had brain surgery. Dylan has epilepsy. My husband and I lived in the hospital for two weeks. We were eating salads that my in-laws brought, a break from cafeteria food. #nicu #birth #breathe “My grandmother, the wildest woman I knew, never met my second child. Zayne Heather Logan passed away shortly before my own miracle entered the world.” “Just the day before I had been twelve years old and pregnant. Now I was recovering from the abortion. Only a year before that, in what felt like my body’s ultimate betrayal, I got my first period. It had come regularly every month since until it didn’t and I was nauseous every day. Even though I’d had sex for the first time just a few weeks before, it didn’t occur to me that I could be pregnant.” “I didn’t know if I would look back on this as the moment I met my son, or if it would become the memory of cradling someone else’s son in my arms—kissing his brand-new forehead, whispering congratulations, and then placing him back in the arms of his mother, never seeing either of them again.” “Their baby books sat waiting to be updated with their latest milestones. I’d become a ghostwriter, setting aside my own journal to document their days. It dawned on me: I’d been crowded out of my own home. Even worse, I’d participated in my own disappearance.” Write for us! Get all the details at muthamagazine.com. In our newest Ask a MUTHA installment, MUTHAs share their thoughts on how abortion access has affected their lives.

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