Resource

I am the source

of ongoing nourishment. The toddler

drinks his breastmilk for

first breakfast, he drapes himself

across my body to regulate

himself to sleep, he is learning

not to bite me, hit me, smash his head

into my head when he is so

overwhelmed that he needs

to sink his teeth and nails

into something. Mothers

are we an endless

resource? Free care, free

food, invaluable which is to say

not valued at all and mother

earth, how long

will we consume her, we fully

grown still suckling

as though we may

be starving, as though

we had never lain

against the world’s heartbeat

and felt our bodies reorganize, as though

we can’t get our teeth into enough

flesh to dispel

whatever hysterical

rage has gripped us, as though

our provider

could never provide

enough.