The mamas are coming.
As red as placenta, as red as new kisses,
as red as strawberry jam, we are
coming. As red as wheelbarrows,
as red as lunchboxes, as red as birthday
balloons, we are coming. As red
as fury, as red as lilies, as red as
blood-spattered desks, we are
coming. And the papas are coming,
and the lovers are coming, and the
children with hearts of fire are coming –
and as red as the crashing red sea
we are coming
to stop the merchants of death.
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Elizabeth Kuelbs writes and mothers at the edge of a Los Angeles canyon. She holds an MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. You can find more of her poems in The Timberline Review, Plum Tree Tavern, Canary, Cricket, Mothers Always Write, and elsewhere.
Image by Alex Hiam.
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