When the Lit Mag Rejects Another Poem About Motherhood
my uterus folds into a gun—
although, I’ve never carried
one. I don’t even like to say the word around our daughter
who grew toes in there. Instead,
we say pun when we chat
about the news at dinner. But they’re everywhere,
puns. At the store, a small
boy with puns for hands
shouts gotcha, gotcha, gotcha down an aisle of hula hoops,
bubbles, floaties,
and water puns.
At the checkout, women’s bodies on health magazines are covered
by plastic panels,
but puns, big ones,
are on full display by the candy and gum. We pass billboards
for The Pun Show on the way
home and a line of protestors
that wraps around the women’s center. “Nothing is easy about motherhood,”
is written on a sign in all caps
over a heartline zigzagging
red over a shouting mouth. I turn up the volume and a bird sings
pío, pío, pío in Spanish.
Fear laps at me
like the shoreline, slowly eating this state that’s shaped like a pun.
Nothing is easy
about motherhood,
but it is worthy of poems, magazines, billboards, and songs, so
when I pull into the driveway,
I decide to stick to my puns
and send out another mother poem tomorrow. For now, we unload
groceries and make plans
to go to a concert—our first
big one since becoming parents. Neither of us says the what if
we’re both thinking.
Piu, piu, piu,
our daughter hops on the sofa. Piu, piu, piu. Piu, piu, piu.
Piu, piu, piu.
■
my uterus folds into a gun—
although, I’ve never carried
one. I don’t even like to say the word around our daughter
who grew toes in there. Instead,
we say pun when we chat
about the news at dinner. But they’re everywhere,
puns. At the store, a small
boy with puns for hands
shouts gotcha, gotcha, gotcha down an aisle of hula hoops,
bubbles, floaties,
and water puns.
At the checkout, women’s bodies on health magazines are covered
by plastic panels,
but puns, big ones,
are on full display by the candy and gum. We pass billboards
for The Pun Show on the way
home and a line of protestors
that wraps around the women’s center. “Nothing is easy about motherhood,”
is written on a sign in all caps
over a heartline zigzagging
red over a shouting mouth. I turn up the volume and a bird sings
pío, pío, pío in Spanish.
Fear laps at me
like the shoreline, slowly eating this state that’s shaped like a pun.
Nothing is easy
about motherhood,
but it is worthy of poems, magazines, billboards, and songs, so
when I pull into the driveway,
I decide to stick to my puns
and send out another mother poem tomorrow. For now, we unload
groceries and make plans
to go to a concert—our first
big one since becoming parents. Neither of us says the what if
we’re both thinking.
Piu, piu, piu,
our daughter hops on the sofa. Piu, piu, piu. Piu, piu, piu.
Piu, piu, piu.
■
Hello Friends,
Today’s poem by Gloria Muñoz can be found in American Poets (Fall/Winter 2024), the magazine of the Academy of American Poets. As you may recall, the Academy of American Poets are the creators and sponsors of National Poetry Month (more info at poets.org).
As a reminder, I do my best to preserve each poem’s format; however, email clients will force a line break when a line is too long for your screen size.
Thank you for celebrating poetry month with me!
— Ællen
Today’s poem by Gloria Muñoz can be found in American Poets (Fall/Winter 2024), the magazine of the Academy of American Poets. As you may recall, the Academy of American Poets are the creators and sponsors of National Poetry Month (more info at poets.org).
As a reminder, I do my best to preserve each poem’s format; however, email clients will force a line break when a line is too long for your screen size.
Thank you for celebrating poetry month with me!
— Ællen