The Godmother Teaches of Desolation
By Courtney Cliften
She reminds me of the desert,
and by that I mean, she reminds me
that sometimes we must demand
to survive. She says acrostics
have a way of figuring out exactly
what we want to say, closes books
if they don’t feel important.
Today, she wrote to me, said men
are a pain in the ass. In the same letter,
wrote about him, about forgiveness—
skin on skin, arms full.
She chops vegetables for Tuesday
dinners, calls it love. Quotes herself,
or me, or Adrienne Rich, tells me it’s okay
to be neither mother nor wife,
reminds me of the miles of Mojave sage
pushing through the dry, cracked earth
insisting it belongs.