Terese Svoboda

Mother Doesn’t Bite
July 22, 2011 Svoboda Terese

Mother Doesn’t Bite

 

I bite instead and she needs salt,
a little more time on the grill.
Young men are coming,
they’ll want her.

Her head is an oyster
turned out of a shell.
She needs her rocks,
and wave after wave.

I’m riding this dream,
her claws position me, specimen
ready for the knife. But who
holds the light?

The young men laugh.
It’s a game, it’s fun, it’s everyday.
I run across the beach,
a toll at last tolling.

Gulls rise with her eyes,
They shriek, night
iced under their wings,
its salt falling.

Terese Svoboda’s most recent book of poetry is Professor Harriman’s Steam Air-Ship (Eyewear, 2016). The Maine in Spain, a chapbook, is forthcoming in 2018 from Island Verse.