A singular creation 

never to be reproduced 

crying within an array 

of useless female organs 

designed to create musical laughter

tiny hands and toes to be counted

little heartbeats from a precious soul

created from passion, love and kismet

females purpose expected

this inability is often rejected.

The dust bowl

which could be a womb

if the word applied

realizing its uselessness

depression and loss combine 

the truth of it.


Tired of freedom

I wish to be tied to shoelaces

lessons taught and dirty faces

skinned knees kissed awkwardly

tiny hands held tightly around my pinky.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dana I. Hunter is one of the Top Ten Poets in the 2021 NAMI NJ: Dara Axelrod Expressive Arts Poetry Contest. She has been published in MIGHTIER—Poets for Social Justice, Adelaide Literary Magazine, and at JerryJazzMusician.com. Her script STEVI won honorable mention at Scriptapalooza in 1998. She received her BA in Communications from Upsala College. Living with bipolar disorder, she is an African American writer who is an advocate for mental health and ending the associated stigma.


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