Mother, soil of our drum and mouth, erodes
dust from dirt, turns gaze into haze.
Solemn, skilled at holding her breath.
Nearby forests and oxygen scorch
Somewhere there must be lagoons
and marshes fecund.
We neglected the mother who doesn’t care
for us. Took for granted our certain
vulnerability. Her cackle and flame.
She burns and burns, forgetting
what it feels like to be wet. Erased,
her spell for rejuvenation. A salted cup,
a wick unblinking.
Leanne Dunic (she/her) is a biracial, bisexual woman who has spent her life navigating liminal spaces, inspiring her to produce trans-media projects such as To Love the Coming End (Book*hug/Chin Music Press 2017) and The Gift (Book*hug 2019). She is the fiction editor at Tahoma Literary Review, the fiction mentor at SFU’s The Writer’s Studio, and the leader of the band The Deep Cove. Her lyric memoir One and Half of You comes out with Talonbooks February 2021.