Portrait of the artist as a mommy

        

mommy of the stringy hair, of the jawing
mouth. mommy of the educational field
trip. mommy of the ruins. mommy down

the staircase under cobblestone, limestone,
marble, brick. mommy pointing—look!
medieval city walls, mosaic of a Roman

bath, Neolithic row houses and in their centers,
fire pits. in the pit of mommy’s stomach.
mommy of smile-for-a-damn-picture. mommy

pointing look! under a glass case, some coins.
gold. only a few. under a glass case, bits of old
stone tablets, inscribed. What do they say?

mommy doesn’t know. mommy of asking-
the-guide. mommy who tips to be told:
The language is lost.

                How do you lose a language?
mommy who is scared to answer. mommy
of the mimosa. mommy of the smart phone.

mommy who daily excavates her baby—
dimple, last bits of fat, open-jawed skull.
                How do you lose a language?

mommy, mommy of the sack and plunder.
speak it, mommy. the stone in your throat.


Shelley Puhak is a poet and writer from Maryland. She is the author of two books of poetry, the more recent of which is Guinevere in Baltimore, winner of the Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize. Her poems appear in the Cincinnati Review, the Missouri Review, Verse Daily, and other journals and anthologies.