by Elisabeth Horan
I sit upon my little clutch
It’s three – five – ten at
The most
Speckled little curds of me
Within them—
A glow of life to be
A bulb / a flint
A match / a yolk
A shell of calcium
Encasing the heart
It’s the best thing
I’ve ever made
No sperm encroached
No fertilization
No coming, no creeping
No orgasm required
An ova exposed //
And how circular the birth!
It has no male
Persuasion / you see
Just something I made
From within me //
It is simply
My art, you see?
Editor’s Note: This poem will appear in Elisabeth’s collection Odd list Odd house Odd me, now available for pre-order from Twist in Time Press and Amazon. Many thanks to the Twist in Time team for permission to publish it here!
Elisabeth Horan is an imperfect creature from Vermont advocating for animals, children and those suffering alone and in pain – especially those ostracized by disability and mental illness. Elisabeth is Lead Editor at Animal Heart Press and glides along as Co-Editor of IceFloe Press, Toronto.
She recently earned her MFA from Lindenwood University and received a 2018 Best of the Net Nomination from Midnight Lane Boutique and a 2018 Pushcart Nomination from Cease Cows. She has books coming out in 2019 with Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, Rhythm & Bones Press, Flypaper Magazine, and Hedgehog Poetry Press.
Follow her on Twitter @ehoranpoet or connect on her website ehoranpoet.com.
(And for more from the odd house, don’t miss Elisabeth’s Sonnetype at dusk at graveside of young woman. – Elephants Never)