My Mother Walks Naked Into the Kitchen by Raven Jackson


Greens boil on the stove as she enters, her legs gold
as butter spread on cornbread, water dripping
from the windowsill. When she opens
blinds, grabs a towel from the sink
red with tomato juice—the dark tuft of hair
hiding inside her thighs
stares at me, becomes a mouth
tilted. Speak, I say, leaning towards it, wanting
to get closer. And she turns
down her face to me, puts her hand
under my chin. The sound of water
thickening, rising into vents. The sound.
The sound.

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Contributor Notes

Raven Jackson is a native of Tennessee and a Cave Canem fellow. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in CALYX, Phantom Limb, PANK, and elsewhere. She attends New York University’s Graduate Film Program.