Monika Herceg

We had to wait for the light to transform
into a mass inside of the womb, for cruelty to turn
into birth
so that the afforestation of Borneo could begin
You often plunge your face into the grieving stumps
and I know that you’re asking me
if there is any sense in
forcing someone to survive in this world
here and now

Mother said
When the milk starts to scream
you must remain brave and silent like a felled tree
She said that the body is porous
and you should not mind
if you recognize the designs on the kitchen tablecloth
in the chambers of your heart
A bad mother bears the genetic mutation of solicitude
A bad mother sometimes gives birth to a good mother

Other women said
your feet would grow bigger,
but from words,
not from giving birth
Outside my belly they are studying my measurements
A public dance of dandruff,
the evergreens displayed above their lips,
I’m cutting up
autumn in thirds,
puffing a firm skeleton into my belly
just like a glass-blower
creating a stable armature

They observe me stroking my belly
in my mother tongue
baby talking to a beech, a wolf and a nettle
who surreptitiously
hurl themselves down
into a single being