The children chase birds

Along the shore

New mothers lay eggs

Barren women rejoice –

For their palettes become more plentiful

Canvas of sky more colorful and bold

And butterflies grow out

Of their ears and flutter

Like faeries in a tale

Told by a madman

Who thinks rabbits can talk

(Oh but they do and more)

Mothers write lovers’ names in the sand

So they can remember

To tell their sons

To tell their daughters

They are stupid little girls

To sit up at night

With a knife at their husbands’ throats

To escape into the sea

To drown the past with one heartfelt scream