Construction Literary Magazine

Fall 2020


Photograph via Flickr by Michela

I lost a lot of blood
the morning I became
a mother. The mirrors spoke
of a seventeen-year old girl
who’d become the amnesia of color.
I was so pale I could walk through walls.
What an astonishing language,
that of a mothering body;
the once kind heart gone
wicked and feral.

Did I tell you, as I nursed my son
that first hour, I felt my bones
begin to thicken,
spinning themselves
into a coven of ax handles?