Read Write Poem #109: six weeks
The nursing mother tallit

Another mother poem: Besieged


Seven weeks in
I am rubble, strafed
by a round-cheeked pilot
who attacks at random
with his air-siren wail

I lie in bed
pleading with no one
for just one hour
but the monitor crackles
and deals its death blow

yet once he's milk-faced
and sleepy, head lolling
in the crook of my arm
I fall in love with the enemy
all over again

his imperious voice
and grabby hands, his eyes
like slate marbles
and his endless hunger
never satisfied

I didn't manage to write to this week's RWP prompt (though it is an awesome one -- my friend and mentor David Lehman encouraged us to work with faux-translations in this way when I was a Bennington student!) Instead, this week, I wrote another in my ongoing series of mother poems.

The seed of this poem was planted during one of the past week's infinite middle-of-the-night feedings. Someday soon I hope to write more about the experience of sustained sleep deprivation and about how it's impacted me emotionally and spiritually -- but right now you get one facet of the experience, refracted into a poem.

As always, you can see what other ReadWritePoem folks did with this week's prompt (or, perhaps, aside from the prompt -- like me) by going to this week's get your poem on post.