after Andrea Kowch

I, too, have harvested. My womb a conflux of necessary cells. I, too, have arrived in a kitchen without context. Without instructions. Without brown sugar for the Sunday pie. Oh dear God. I have mixed the flour & butter. The lemon & sun-dried skin. Oh dear God. Have mercy upon these clumsy hands. This clumsy heart. I, too, have tried to please you. Walked from house to garden to cemetery without straying from the path. Unshaken in my resolve to ignore the carpenter bee. The new wren trapped inside my screen door. The cashier with two broken teeth and a black eye. She says she’s leaving work early. The doctor could see her today. If I put down the knife. Set aside the bowl. Stare at your impossible face. Turn my back to the cluster of crows. What then, God? What?

Beth Gordon’s poems have been published in Poet Lore, Citron Review, SWWIM, Pithead Chapel, Moist Poetry, Okay Donkey and others. She is the author of several chapbooks including The Water Cycle (2022, Variant Literature). Beth is Managing Editor of Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Assistant Editor of Animal Heart Press, and Grandma of Femme Salve Books. Twitter and Instagram @bethgordonpoet.