Madonna Litta

By FRANCES RICHEY

c. 1490 Leonardo da Vinci

Oh, Mary! It must have been a revelation
to breastfeed your boy the will of God.
All I had to offer was the usual. For years
after my son was weaned, I still had milk.
The men I slept with loved it. Men can be
such babies when a stream shoots up
like fountain spray and hits the ceiling.
In this stingy world I was blessed
with more than I could hold.
Like Rose of Sharon in the scene of scenes,
her stillborn given to the river; the way she
bared her breast to save a starving stranger—
I could have done more—
                               but I didn’t know how.

 

Frances Richey is the author of two poetry collections, The Warrior and The Burning Point, and the chapbook Voices of the Guard. She teaches an ongoing poetry-writing class at The Himan Brown Program at the 92NY in NYC.

[Purchase Issue 25 here.]

Madonna Litta

Related Posts

Glass: Five Sonnets

MONIKA CASSEL
In ’87 I see guardsmen walk their AK-47s / on the platforms. The trains slow down but never stop. I think, / my mother was born in such a different Germany, but this is true for everyone / —so why can’t I stop looking?

cover of "Civilians"

On Civilians: Victoria Kelly Interviews Jehanne Dubrow

JEHANNE DUBROW
Now we live in North Texas, hours away from the nearest shore. And yet, the massive amounts of open space—all the prairie, marsh, and plains that we have here—started to feel like another kind of vast water, another great expanse of distance and isolation.

Lizard perched on a piece of wood.

Poems in Tutunakú and Spanish by Cruz Alejandra Lucas Juárez

CRUZ ALEJANDRA LUCAS JUÁREZ
Before learning to walk / and before I’d fallen upon the wet earth / already my heart hummed in three tones. / Even when my steps were still clumsy, / I already held three consciousnesses. // Long before my baptism, / already my three nahuals were running