On Matriphagy
matri- (mother)
-phagy (to feed on)
When Harry Harlow left
his monkeys with their cloth
mothers, quietly closing the door
on the lab for the night,
the handkerchief in his breast
pocket a heavy-handed metaphor,
he did not return home
to his own children.
When Saint Martin gave away
just half his cloak
it was enough
to become holy.
In some centipedes
the offspring consume
their own mother,
swarming her and yanking
the dark flesh from beneath
her pale exoskeleton.
They say a woman’s body
does not fully recover
for eighteen months after giving birth,
a plant growing
pale leaves in acidic soil.
Mother Earth, we call it,
and take what we need.
*
Franziska (Franzi) Roesner is a professor of computer science at the University of Washington. She was a poet first, though, and has returned to poetry recently. Her poetry has appeared in Rust & Moth, Stonecoast Review, SWWIM, and others. She lives in Seattle with her husband, two daughters, and cat.
Savage nature. 💀❤️