Non-mother's lament
by Maria Giesbrecht
I don’t have a son and I can’t work for one.
There’s nothing growing inside of me
like a callus, slowly, night after night,
getting stronger, more full of life. I hate everything
in February. I want to sleep like a fish
in spring, full of orange eggs. I want to cramp
up like cooked shrimp. I want feet that feel
like thunder to walk. I won’t be greedy--
I won’t stay long. I promise I’ll turn the light off,
and get back to work, when he comes.
There’s nothing growing inside of me
like a callus, slowly, night after night,
getting stronger, more full of life. I hate everything
in February. I want to sleep like a fish
in spring, full of orange eggs. I want to cramp
up like cooked shrimp. I want feet that feel
like thunder to walk. I won’t be greedy--
I won’t stay long. I promise I’ll turn the light off,
and get back to work, when he comes.
Maria Giesbrecht is a Canadian poet whose work explores her Mexican and Mennonite roots. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in The Literary Review of Canada, Narrative, Grain, ONLY POEMS, The Washington Square Review, and elsewhere. She is the winner of the 2025 Jack McCarthy Book Prize, the Lesley Strutt Poetry Prize, a finalist for the 2025 Narrative Poetry Prize, a Best of Net nominee, and the founder of Gather, an international writing community that connects poets worldwide. Born in Durango, Mexico, she now lives in Toronto, Canada.