Unraveling
Name a man
who reaches
out
(your dad doesn’t count).
If all your aunties
went down
to the lake
and drowned
would the uncles know
how to throw a wake?
Would they remember
to send word
or think
to make a dinner
gathering happen?
Who holds
the means
to make kin,
spin them between
their own deft lips?
When my mother died
I saw a woman,
how she can be a loom laying
us all across each other,
shuttling us into patterns
and knotting our ends
into all the things
that matter. She invites
everyone under the blanket, then
tucks us in with her teeth.
Jessie is a poet/mother/florist living on unceded Ohlone territory. She holds a BA from UC Berkeley and an MA from San Francisco State (both in Art History). Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Cimarron Review, Puerto del Sol, Southern Humanities Review, F(r)iction, CALYX, Chestnut Review, Mother Mag, and others. You can read more of her poetry at jessiewingate.com.
