EASTERN IOWA REVIEW
  • Home
    • EIR Updates
    • About Us
    • Masthead
    • Port Yonder Press >
      • Chapbooks
    • Eastern Iowa Review
  • Guidelines
  • FAQs
  • Current Issue
    • Issue 19
  • Past Issues
    • Lyric Essay Issues >
      • The Lyric Essay
      • Issue 16 - Come, Wander
      • Issue 10 - Spring 2020
      • Issue 8 - Spring 2019
      • Issue 7 - Print Anthology
      • Issue 6 - 2018
      • Issue 3 - 2017 >
        • Editors Note - Issue 3
      • Issue 2 - 2016
      • Issue 1 - 2015
    • Themed Issues >
      • Issue 18 - Heaven(s)/Sky
      • Issue 17 - Nature >
        • Editors Note - Issue 17
      • Issue 15 - Love
      • Issue 14 >
        • Those Elves - Origin Story
        • Those Elves - The Collection
      • Issue 13 - Winter
      • Issue 12 - Water
      • Issue 11 - Hope in Renewal (An Intermission)
      • All Things Anne - Issue 9
      • Issue 5 - The SmartApocalypse
      • Issue 4 Contributors & Samples
  • More
    • Maggie Nonfiction Award
    • The Prose Poem >
      • The Christine Prose Poetry Award
    • Fictions >
      • The Dory Ann Fiction Award
      • Contemporary Mystery
      • Dark Fiction
      • Debut Fiction
      • Fan Fiction
      • Honorable Mentions
      • Literary Fiction
      • Mythical Fiction
      • Speculative Fiction
      • Woods-Western-Mountain-Appalachian
      • Young Author
      • Unclassifiable
    • Prizes
    • Interviews
    • List of Contributors

​
FREE VERSE POEM

MEREDITH MACLEOD DAVIDSON


MOTHER'S DAY


my invitation to sin rescinded
I keep thinking about the glass in her arms
gaslit gatekept and girlbossed all in one
a trifecta for these derby days
well, if Courtney Love can make a joke about it
maybe we can all be okay.

The lighting fixture draws a length with cord
from across the room to more central
and the man in my bed says it
looks like a torture device
like the claw machine ready to fall
and drag us in its metal arms
to who knows where really
except that it’s outside our enclosure
and sends us through a cold metal chute.

​

I just think it’s bad design
too much exposure
so the spiral
of the bulb sears
through my eyelids
as I make every endeavor to sleep.

A Sunday of staring
the corner of the room is the aperture
through which a depth shoots, snaps, sends
every mother messages except for one-
to do so would be such a betrayal
of the feeling of the coldness
of the hardwood floors at 3 in the morning
on a school night at that! - but Lord was I not a student
when she taught me just what it takes to pray.



Picture

​Meredith MacLeod Davidson
is a poet and writer from Virginia. A graduate of Clemson University with a degree in English, her work has previously been published in the 2 Bridges Review and The Bookends Review. Meredith is currently pursuing an MLitt in creative writing at the University of Glasgow.

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.