Poetry: "Mothers" By Amy Kotthaus
By Amy Kotthaus
Do me not the indignity
of laying pine boughs at his feet
while men should still be offering
up the smoke of burning grain.
If he is water, I am the vessel
pouring him into you.
I tend the bees whose wax
he steals to make the candles
you worship. Why?
Because they bring you light
in the black winter of his rule?
He gives flame so you can see
your worn prayer book
and prepare for him
a meal of supplication.
Amy Kotthaus is a writer from Bridgton, Maine.
Amy Kotthaus is a writer, translator, painter, and photographer. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Ink in Thirds, Yellow Chair Review, Gnarled Oak, Drunk Monkeys, and Section 8. Her photography has been published or is forthcoming in Storm Cellar, Ground Fresh Thursday, Crab Fat Magazine, Quantum Fairy Tales, Foliate Oak, Ghost City Review, and Digging Through the Fat. Her painting has been published in Wierderary.
On Her Work:
"This poem was one of the first I wrote as a reaction to the 2016 US election cycle, and the toxic vein of misogyny that permeated every aspect of it."
On Female Creators:
"Over the past three years, I had become increasingly more involved in the day to day raising of two small children. This didn't leave, I thought, a whole lot of room for staying politically or intellectually active. As the horror of 2016 began to unfold, it became impossible to ignore the escalating attacks on women and women's rights (not to mention the attacks on so many other marginalized groups). Not only was I mortified at the direction the US appeared to be taking, but I also felt incredibly guilty for letting this happen without a fight, while I had two children who would have to grow up in this world. I began to write again as the first attempt to make amends for my negligence. As mothers and women, our voices need to be heard."
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