Poems from Melinda Wilson

Two Days after Eden

I woke with the ‘rage of all women’ condensed in my throat.

Too newborn and without eyesight, I could not see the many like me,

rallying to our collective age. Lumber in a hundred-

year-old house as it settles into itself. Hauntingly and at night.

Something mammalian clawed its way

to the surface. Every camera-eyeful conspired to keep

all the bitches down in their holes. So, when we finally spoke,

two days after Eden had burned, in place of apology, we proclaimed:

It’s bitches all the way down.

From Inside the Maternity Den

No other task will occupy the mind or body.

The sun produced by just a thought of you

will collapse the ice cave around her,

crushing her flat to hug the broken earth.

When she should have been headed

for the openness of the ocean, she was denning

deep in the permafrost. For reasons unclear,

we occasionally destroy our offspring, run

them into the snowdrifts or abandon them

at feeding time. Wake and leave the chamber.

She will gradually starve to death or she will

suffocate or she will live for years with arctic

mites and only her raw materials. As long

as there is still the chance of your extinction.

I Said to the Den Mother

Look: I am nothing.

Offended, she told me I am light.

Or the possibility of light

just before dawn. Then, the prism of color

filling the dew globes on the Garden

Spider’s web. She told me I am huntress.

Born prey on the floodplain, turned

opportunistic feeder.

Because I find

what’s mine.

About Melinda Wilson

Melinda Wilson is Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Manhattan College and author of AMPLEXUS, a chapbook from Dancing Girl Press. Other poems have appeared in publications such as The Cincinnati Review, The Wisconsin Review, The Minnesota Review, Verse Daily, Valley Voices and elsewhere. She lives in New York City.


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