Saturday, August 18, 2012

Dorothy Porter - mother poem

Lets have a few Dorothys this week (it's Dorothy Parker's birthday on Wednesday). 

I was tempted to call my first born Dorothy. I then considered a diminutive, my grandmother's name, then settled on something that rhymes with that. Her name suits her. But I do like the Dorothys.

You know how books are being repurposed now? At the library I work at they have open books hanging from the ceiling like birds in flight. They have a big chair made of books and an archway at the entrance to the library. I'm a little sad that one of those repurposed books is a book by Dorothy Porter.

Motherhood - Dorothy Porter

No longer will she
like Fantasia
across the sea floor

the giant octopus is dying

in her blue den
her clusters of eggs
swell like cysts

the giant octopus is dying

her moody vivid nervous system
shut down and dun
the giant octopus is dying

her tentacles wave
like drowned arms
her ink bubbles away

the giant octopus is dying

she’s got nothing left
her eggs took the lot.

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