Read a Poem by Ali Cobby Eckerman
Presenting the 2017 Windham-Campbell Winners
Inside My Mother
my mother screams as I touch her hair
attempting to brush away the coarseness with my hands
to entwine twigs filled with leaves into her locks
a tiara of green to soften her face
and our tears dry now my mother is frailing
she talks only to those who have gone before
no longer seeing my love, no longer needing
and the wailing bursts from our mouths
as she sinks to the ground, her mother the earth
and my mother the dying
throws sand in her face, tasting the grit
in her mouth and wailing louder throws herself
forward, pushing her breasts into the softness
of the earth her mother
and my mother the dying
crawls down into that final embrace
her conversation incoherent now
as if like a child she is practicing words
for the lifetime to come
and the syllables loud and guttural spill
over the sand her mother the earth
and I walk away leaving her there
in the cradle, safely nestled in the roots
of that tree, safe in her country
our solace, her grave
