Lightening by A. Molotkov
I wrap my mother’s body in a small blanket. She is light in my arms. Sprawled by a fig tree, my father asks, Are thoughts made of our own flesh? I hesitate. Our flesh is a ship stripped of sails. We listen to the sound of the oars. A fig falls into my opening palm. Bodies are evolving myths. My mother is lighter and lighter each year.
This poem can be found in A. Molotkov’s book Synonyms for Silence.
Click here to purchase.
Click on the printer icon to print this page
To learn more about A. Molotkov, visit his page on the Acre Books website by clicking here.
Danielle read from Karen Volkman’s essay Mutable Boundaries: on Prose Poetry. Click here to read it.
Lit from the Basement is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com (this means as Amazon associates, we earn from qualifying purchases).