Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

to a future mother

your child,
because yes you have a child in the future,
will attempt to kill you


the first time you will erupt into tears, as will he
cradling one another with the knife forgotten at your feet,
and you will be mercy
you will be jesus,
a mother

he will be bursting with the wrong things,
hormones and fear and revolution –
you will think him beautiful beyond his years,
both of you indecent
your blood on his hands, but not much

the second time, it will all be different
the blade will feel cold,
he will not get your blood on his hands, not any
and neither of you will cry

you will have your own weapon waiting,
he will die, widowing your lineage
you will hate yourself for his sins

and you will bandage those wounds alone


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