poems You are the tiny person, the cupped hand, and every moon Linoprint and birthday poem for Em the sea-wives «mother doesn’t give a shit.» geese once more with feeling:[bellowing] you do not have to be good mugwort do not underestimate the space i will claim. my house will have no sign you will not find it by name or number. the dance one day the woman awoke feeling strange. Dora it is not a friendship, not a business transaction, not a love affair, not a baby. women throwing things into fires on any given night whether the moon be bright and fat or a shadow of herself dead rabbit dora found a rabbit near the tip bone stories oh, i could tell it so many ways. At last we are drunk for the first time in the foothills of cadair idris fresh out of school where for five years they called us lemons and dykes. a head start i breathed with him barely sipping the pale air baba yaga’s hut they come to me for the stupidest things. / Untitled (Mother) sea, ever changing, ever constant. what do you know about mother?you cannot know mother.