What’s worse, after all, than a hungry woman, greedy for all that isn’t meant to be hers? Catherine Chung growing old is erasure—my body hidden this face unseen while my girl-days flick incandescent memories—lilies & underfoot moss dusk or dawn swims. I was seal then or otter almost fish— my gift for transmutation for echolocation only a flicker. my song could not be stanched until misshapen by monstrous craving for whatever I could swallow strange & lush salt & shadow I transformed. now when I say monstrous I mean denial. I mean grandmother as nothing. I mean bleating Mém Maa as if to show that girl everything she won’t see until like me she pretends to outgrow hunger. Mém Mémère the mouth murmurs for more.
Jeri Theriault’s poetry collections include Radost, My Red, and the award-winning In The Museum of Surrender. She is the editor of Wait: Poems from the Pandemic. Her poems and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as The Rumous, The Texas Review, The Ashville Poetry Review, and Plume. A Fulbright recipient and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Jeri won the 2019 Maine Literary Award for poetry. She lives in South Portland, Maine. See www.jeritheriault.com
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