waking poem art great mother and new father conference blog

A poem by Audrey Gidman

I step into my body as though

I am a temple making holy

the dirt. Here              I crack myself

open     like an eggshell –                     a pale

blue thing        coming apart now

in unfolded bloom.

I wash my face. I will go home but not

in the same shoes, not

with the same shoulders.

I pull on my clothes. I am learning

to carry

the belly of the water         in my knees,

that mother tongue drum in my spine

and when it settles

so too does the roof

of my mother’s house—I am here

cooking breakfast over the stove, unraveling

the bone quilt

my grandmothers sang        until their fingers

bent       into wind—

these knees are for prayer: the river

remembers itself in my hands.


Copyright © 2016 Audrey Gidman. All rights reserved.


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