Winding Tapes 062902 / Mother, Mother

I was born dead, blue
and you were there bloody—
you lost so much
time to me.

A breach in the world, I am
made of music, and emptiness, and infections
run through my scraped brown skin
like yours, yours
from the playground
from a cold womb.

You never wanted me, did you
did you, did you
did you see me when I broke free
out of the shell too early?
I couldn’t
breathe
but I loved someone.

Mother, mother,
I need your feathers, please
lay them on me now.


 



Sapphire Lynn Johnson is an African American writer from Chicago who is pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois. Currently, she works as Editor-In-Chief for Broadside Literary Magazine, where she reads submissions from students and critiques them.











Comments

Leave a comment