Madre’s Mexican Blackbird
by Janna Hill
She reins me in
Her strong swollen hands tangled inside an unruly mane
Uno ! Dos! Isilencio! Tres!
Three dull thumps convince me to hush
and settle between beefy thighs
Gnarled fingers of assurance tug at my scalp
She plaits my hair with promises
Wisdom weaved among coarse strands of unnumbered mañanas
My head is left tender and spinning
with knitted rows of old wives tales.
**For the final week of NPM I will be posting my own poetry, a mix of published and unpublished. Is that selfish? Yes. Yes, it is. It is also easier — and right now I need easy.
I am grateful to everyone who submitted or suggested a poem. Hopefully we will do it again next year.