Altar of Motherhood
The woman at the cashier winks at me,
gestures to her friend.
I thought she was talking about planting THAT seed.
She chuckles, expecting me to care
about a stranger’s fertility or lack thereof.
Family fables dance
on the altar of motherhood;
a figure mocked in sitcoms and memes
but nevertheless, a part of the club
to which I will not be admitted, as if
I will never know what it means to be real
like the Velveteen Rabbit, who needed a child’s love
to make him come alive.
Why must I wait to come alive?
I walk into the sharp, clear sunlight.
V. Bray has been a writer since childhood and still has a box filled with her first “books,” usually illustrated with markers and bound with yarn. She writes in many genres, from speculative and historical fiction to poetry. Her work has been published in About Place Journal, Halfway Down the Stairs, Multiplicity Magazine, and The Writer magazine. Learn more at authorvbray.com.