What Motherhood Did To My Poetry

By Allie Bullivant
January 2022

What motherhood did to my poetry

Erased it, shed it, threw it

downriver

dashed it into pieces,

debris.

Now I fold clothes in neat lines

wash dishes, cups

wipe your mouth and listen,

listen

it’s your voice

shaking the wooden hall,

coated with dirt,

wax, crumbs.

the trail of where

you have been

I follow

and you’re crying.

I hear it, the way

the curtains have shifted

the rug. I call and your voice

collides with mine

and what’s left is it,

the only way

I know

how to write

now.