Poetry. Women’s Studies. Parenting. THE BRAID is a fever dream of pregnancy and early parenting in the era of the police state. Meditative and urgent, it interrogates the idealized portrait of mother and child to wind up somewhere much messier. A love poem shot through with ambivalence; a sustained fuck–you to Ronald Reagan and his legacy; a moment of feminist possibility on the far side of collapse.
“I eat crumbs out of the baby’s neck / I’m glad there are no great poems by women / I’m glad there are no great poems by Jews / I’m glad there are no great poems about motherhood / I’m glad no great poems have ever been written.”