words mugwort do not underestimate the space i will claim. baba yaga’s hut they come to me for the stupidest things. / women throwing things into fires on any given night whether the moon be bright and fat or a shadow of herself dreams i dreamed my namei dreamed my motheri dreamed i was a rotting log bone stories oh, i could tell it so many ways. the dance one day the woman awoke feeling strange. the port the woman brushed the wet sand from her dress. the pair walked on in silence Untitled (Mother) sea, ever changing, ever constant. what do you know about mother?you cannot know mother. You are the tiny person, the cupped hand, and every moon Linoprint and birthday poem for Em the spider the woman remembered the swivel of shod hooves on the dusty road, and running. geese once more with feeling:[bellowing] you do not have to be good the boat on windy days the sea-wives would be busy with the boats. my house will have no sign you will not find it by name or number. At last we are drunk for the first time in the foothills of cadair idris fresh out of school where for five years they called us lemons and dykes. the landing branta came that night. paddled right up beside her in a tree-trunk canoe, offering a name. the fog the woman walked south along the high cliff path a head start i breathed with him barely sipping the pale air dead rabbit dora found a rabbit near the tip the woman once there was a woman who lived alone self-portrait with ghost they hadn’t spoken in 40 years. The Story of the Nether Largie Stanes “Mooooooon!” Earth would call up into the darkness. “Gealllaaaach! Come down here and talk with me, for I long for a sister who understands me, and I feel you could be the one.” the sea-wives «mother doesn’t give a shit.» “tell the story of a scar” he had always been gifted at sports of all kinds / Dora it is not a friendship, not a business transaction, not a love affair, not a baby. untitled it is the day the spiders hatched.