what the women are doing
for Elaine Feeney
while we watch our movies sunk in beanbags
the women
are talking without pause of blocked guts
ladling food into handbags
where it settles in sediments that birth
entire ecosystems.
The little species there look up,
call mother to the sky – and it’s true
the women will always be more mother than they might choose
– the snare of mother, the body’s gibbet –
heedless above these worlds, the women
are talking, great fish bowls of wine
pivoting on …
