Glass: A Journal of Poetry Volume Two Issue One       

Luigi Monteferrante

Motherhood 

She sat at the edge of the bath
Staring down at the child

Didn’t laugh or smile – and an incisor
Caught on her lip
And hung exposed

Get a good rub
And the girl rubbed her little arm
With a soapy sponge

Now you scrub proper
And she scrubbed her legs proper

And don’t forget your ears
And she poked her ears
Twisted her fingers
As if she were winding herself up
Like a clock

And on a whim
Blew her nose in the water

You twit
And got a smack

Out now
And come to dinner
As you are

The girl went dripping
To the table
The cutlery silver
Sharp