her skin holds memory, perfect longing,
of her babies, round and reaching,
even when she sleeps, hungering, hurting,
motherhood is the invention throughout the night
of necessity, injury and wanting,
and she will always need the itch that knows no relief
Today's readwritepoem NaPoWriMo Prompt14 was to write a cleave poem. Blogspot is not letting me separate the two vertical poems, so I have put the second in red.