by Luz Castaneda
Be Mother
1.
I heard be And became snout became cave
Ursidae I heard be Shaggy be Nonretractile
Claw be Canine (four) Incisor (twelve) Be
Mother Constallate Refuge become bed
And base den and root forager jaw
Be Hinge and honeypalm be Heard
2.
I emerge from the woods, mouth open,
dog-like, postured. I hold a basket
of fruit, pulp and skin of grapes,
hind and foremilk. My newborn is salt-scent,
cloud, common-myrtle, turning
my teeth yellow. Must be Claw. Must be
Canine. All season, I lair. Not yet spring
when the hunters breach, bare-chested,
skinning the sow, her cubs
shrieking. I knew motherhood
would break my body, but not
my brain. All night every night
the cubs rout my dreams.
Lisa Marie Oliver’s poems are featured or forthcoming in Timberline Review, Book of Matches, Windfall and Literary Mama. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her wife and toddler.
Luz Castaneda was born in Brazil to Brazilian and Spanish parents. Since 2014, she has been living and working as an artist in NYC. She is a self-taught artist, a biologist, Ph.D. in Genetics, educator and researcher in the sacred language of nature. Her research and artwork are a combination of her artistic soul and scientific mind. Her art has been exhibited in multiple galleries in the United States and Brazil. www.luzcastaneda.com.