fledglings {those who cannot give}

by G.G. Silverman

mother only feeds

on bones

because she is




     we regurgitate

what can’t

be consumed,

our mouths



she grows thin,

lies in her

bed speaking tongues,

shades drawn.


we clasp our hands

at her feet,

waiting for her

reprisal, waiting


for her to stand



the sun

G.G. Silverman writes speculative fiction and poetry from just north of Seattle. She was a finalist for the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund for feminist writing, among other honors, and her work has appeared in StrangeHouse Books, Psychopomp, Speculative City, Corvid Queen, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, The Seventh Wave, Molotov Cocktail, and more. She is currently at work on a short story collection as well as a poetry collection. To learn more, please go to www.ggsilverman.com.