Leah Richards Ghost, Mother I went back to the mountains of my childhood because I thought Wichita, with its feral boars and hoof trails cut through whispering prairie, might quiet her. The girl I once was, barefoot on creek…
Browsing: MER Online
Geula Geurts Moon Child “I’m like a moon,” my toddler says. He’s sitting on the toilet, proudly working his tummy. He is newly potty trained, his foray into big boyhood. Oh no, I think, not another in-house poet. “How…
Maggie Cramer and Emily Cramer So(ma)tic Poetry Exercises after CA Conrad This is best with bare feet. Even better naked. Walk from one end of your home to another. It doesn’t matter if the children are awake or asleep.…
Brittany Ackerman Big Splashes, So Big I dream that beetles have infested our home. The meaning of beetles in dreams varies, but some say that dreams about insects in general can indicate a need to be free from anxiety…
Mother / WRITER – Artist Prose Brittany Ackerman, “Big Splashes, So Big” Jennifer Case, “Things People Tell Me When I Write About Motherhood” Maggie Cramer and Emily Cramer, “So(ma)tic Poetry Exercises, after CA Conrad” Derek Davidson, “Medium” Geula…
Callie Plaxco Aphasia There are whole days that pass without a single thought taking shape into intelligible words. The wind screams and I think perhaps it is a child waking. But the leaves shake and always there are noises…
Dayna Patterson Gertrude on arte materna Published in MER 21 Note: The poem is published as an image to preserve formatting. Dayna Patterson is a Thea-curious recovering Mormon, fungophile, macrophotography enthusiast, and textile artist.…
Doralee Brooks Hips —After Lucille Clifton/Patricia Smith My hips hold me on weak knees and unsteady ankles as I pull spiky weeds like needles from the side of the house wearing Michael’s leather work gloves. He tells me to…
Glenis Redmond Setting the Table Mama hands me fork, spoon and knife as she circles the table I follow her lead. Learn what comes around goes around. She demonstrates how to fold the napkins and where the drinking glasses…
Dorsía Smith Silva My daughter is the wolf of me moonhowls my four-legged desires into rivers of lupine flower & alpha star hunts down fears nesting in hunter sniffs lumps of green to thirst caribou bloats on stars’ colostrum like extra moonlight marvel at her wilderness unwhittled which mirrors my own…