silent bluebirds, someone
invisible against the bluest sky,
a ring of primal unhearing:
we, the mothers of dead girls,
i see more blood than any man
know just how my womb
tumble out red -- or, some months, does not.
i boil this unwanted sweetness
now, and i do not fear to set free
a bluebird, a death cry,
the blood of my enemies.
a child, ripped into a thousand pieces
a thousand drops of blood staining --
my child, my only daughter, now
a thousand seeds of starlight, feeds
a thousand reluctant fireweeds.
Samantha Martin (she/her) is a queer poet from michigan whose work explores relationships, trauma, spirituality, and nature. her poetry can be found in Flora Fiction Literary Magazine and Ink Drinkers Magazine; she contributes reviews to The Poetry Question. she lives with her partner and three cats in jakarta, indonesia. Twitter: @dirtstringdoor