Some of us don’t breathe the air
outside the womb. Our mothers eat from cans
or toil over assembly lines, waiting for men who never call.
We make fists under the depth of a wondrous sea
while our mothers cup their bellies for one two or three.
Those of us who breathe may circle around the sun,
before our father, wherever he is, finds us
like an anchor at his feet.
Eréndira's fiction appears in West Branch, The Puritan, Day One, The Cossack Review, The Black Warrior Review, Fourteen Hills, and others. Her poetry is featured in The Sunlight Press and Mothers Always Write. Her essays are featured in The Washington Post, Brain, Child Magazine, The Tishman Review, Cordella Magazine, Front Porch Commons: A Project of the [CLMP], and many others. She has work forthcoming in The Mudroom. She is writing a novel.