Natalie Marino Ode to Nine She is a little sun. She is a clementine— sometimes sweet, sometimes sour— she is not really mine. For years I thought I wore invisible armor— that I was made of the thinnest tin— but becoming a mother has meant learning to eat my own heart. When she was born I dreamt of a tea rose tree. She told me yesterday she wants to be called by a different name; today she walked with me to the beach. I watched her hold in her hand several sand crabs and then let them go into…
Author: Mom Egg Review
Callie Plaxco It Occurs to Me that the Sound of My Heart is Keeping Me Awake The impulse to rip it out and smash it through the open window arises. Just to see it thunder through space, to know if it will fall flat like a fledgling smattered or if, perhaps it will fly. My six-year-old comes home from school and announces something remarkable. We are always flying, he says, because atoms never fully touch one another. It occurs to me that I have never had this thought however true and I am caught winded by the sensation of…
Sarah Sadie Deer Mother Amid the hothouse needs and cares blooming around me, how often I disappear. Erased into strawberry and sweet, defined by flower or fruit, and therefore invisible. Even up close, you will not know me until you can face abyss and starsoak. There’s no language yet for my nature but antlers and choice come close. Come close. My nature is age beyond age. This poem was written in response to artist Deanna Croaker’s “Adikikwe: Reindeer Woman” Return to Motherhood’s Duality Folio Author of five collections of poetry and winner of a Pushcart Prize, over…
Anne M. Terashima Rounding Out Our First Full Calendar Year In December’s morning darkness I spill my coffee, blot dark liquid with a questionable washcloth from the kitchen sink. Think This is what I get for once again contracting strange equations—self + child, unraveling + entwinement—down to If I’d only known or even If only I’d known better. Yesterday she danced to the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s A Charlie Brown Christmas, stance wide and slowly rocking from foot to foot, head down and swaying as if absorbed in serious business. Me on the floor, back against the couch, surrounded by…
Veronica Tucker Counterfactual, With Light Left On There is a version of me who leaves the house cleanly keys in hand no inventory the sink empty counters bare no small shoes by the door the body is uninterrupted it belongs to itself no sudden pull no waking already in motion in that version silence expands fills the rooms I try to picture her how she moves through a space that does not ask but something resists a light is left on in a room no one enters as if she expects or cannot stop Return to Motherhood’s Duality…
By Ana C.H.Silva It was the rice cooker in the corner of “Big Kitchen” that made me snatch up the little card advertising Siyan Wong’s “Mother Warriors” show at Equity Gallery. The little white appliance, its round surfaces decorated with pastel flowers, seemed teleported directly from my childhood as a first generation American from a family of Taiwanese immigrants. I realized I’d never seen a rice cooker in a painting somehow. Why not? The second element that caught my eye was the central figure, standing in her bathrobe in the doorway of the crowded apartment, with no face. Sometimes,…
Congratulations and good luck to our nominees! Best of the Net Poetry Amy Dryansky – Flowers That Bloom Early & Disappear They Call Ephemera The Rebirthing Room Amy Lemmon – Fracture Season Motherhood Noise and Silence Tina Cane – Good Mom Poem of the Month Leonore Wilson – Their Genesis The (Re)Birthing Room Nida Sophasarun – SIRENS Motherhood and the Supernatural Prose Jessica Yen – Houdini Mothers and Family Elizabeth H. Winkler – Love Languages Mothers and Family Best Small Fictions Olivia Brochu – When One Thing Ends The (Re)Birthing Room Shinelle L. Espaillat- Screaming At…
Pichchenda Bao MOTHER TONGUE My mother once told me, “When you were born, they kept calling you black. So I named you Diamond.” What I took away was not how precious I am, but how much she wanted to brighten my darkness. She tells me stories in Khmer though, so I could be wrong. Khmer being slippery like memories, kapek kapok. If this is a true story, what else can I remember? Were we standing at the kitchen counter? Me, crushing garlic, clipping the tips of green beans, as I watched her with the old meat cleaver slamming…
Dear Community, We’re excited to be celebrating our 25th year of publication in 2027, with the release of MER – Mom Egg Review Vol. 25. The issue will be jam-packed with poetry, creative prose, fiction, and art from a stellar line-up of contributors! We are offering our community a chance to pre-order the issue at a reduced rate ($18 with free shipping). Plus, a free gift with purchase is offered for #LitMagWeek–a PDF copy of MER 17 (the first issue in which Jennifer Martelli and Cindy Veach edited poetry). We’re planning some special events for our anniversary and are…
MER #LitMagWeek Special Pre-order MER – Mom Egg Review Vol. 25, our 25th Anniversary Issue, for just $18, includes shipping! This extra-large issue launching in April will retail for $20–order now for a reduced price. ORDER DURING OUR #LITMAGWEEK SPECIAL (9/28 – 10/2) and get a special gift — Receive a Free PDF issue of MER Vol. 17 the first MER issue with poetry edited by Jennifer Martelli and Cindy Veach, including work by Margie Shaheed, Dayna Patterson, Jane Yolen, Sarah Freligh and many more. . Cover art by Megan Wynne.