Nothing Roots or Infertility

We chase a future
we cannot birth. Maybe
if it was only me, a no one bride
of blood and blame. But bees
are dying. Birds dropping,
the ocean pregnant
with plastic. The rodents
have returned each disease.
We made a mess
of family. All these browning prayers
plotted in thirsty fields. Still nothing
roots. Perhaps we have got used
to how common dying feels
in our speech. I want to grow
something so soft
you’d swear it was snow.
What I mean is I can still feel
the plastic gloves inside me, see myself
sobbing to every nurse. Hear the sea choking
on our greed. Perhaps we have all starved
or strangered mother. Asked her
for a comfort
she will no longer give.

Kelly Grace Thomas

Kelly Grace Thomas is an ocean-obsessed Aries from Jersey. She is a self-taught poet, editor, educator and author. Kelly is the winner of the 2017 Neil Postman Award for Metaphor from Rattle, 2018 finalist for the Rita Dove Poetry Award and multiple Pushcart Prize nominee. Her first full-length collection, Boat Burned, released with YesYes Books in January 2020. Kelly’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in: Best New Poets 2019, Los Angeles Review, Redivider, Muzzle, Sixth Finch and more. Kelly is the Director of Education for Get Lit and the co-author of Words Ignite. She lives in the Bay Area with her husband Omid.


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