Amanda Skjeveland

Propped against the willow tree,
she wanted you long before you came;
her dirty summer hands raised
the plastic version of you
to her still-awkward chest
to offer her essence
before it was time.

For years she must have known
you were coming
as she planted footprints
for you to fill
and danced,
brave and irresistible,
like the willow’s branches.

She would not have believed
her heart would fail her,
the umbilical cord
having made its transfer
but not yet fallen from you,
its strong core barely shriveled.


Author bio:
Amanda Skjeveland’s work is currently in, or will shortly be appearing in, Eclipse, Flutter Poetry Journal, Burst, Literary Mama, Melusine, and Tonopah Review. She lives with her husband and two little boys on the east coast, where she teaches English and edits the literary magazine at a community college.

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