Father of Minerva, Mother of the Second Amendment & Persephone of the Carpool, by Michael J. Carter

​Father of Miverva

Vulcan was my midwife
with his hammer and tongs
cleaving my skull to shake
you free of me, my love.
My gallstones were the anvil
upon which your mother
forged the armor you were 
born wearing: a better fit
than the prom dresses
I’d eventually spring for
despite my reluctance--
you are no princess. Just
look at me. At times
it felt like indigestion
the bilious fire 
your mother clattered over 
to make you what protection 
she could in the world designed
for your destruction, afraid
of your ferocity.

​

Mother of the Second Amendment

Now you can understand
why I hid my every need
the way a parent hides
Christmas gifts. She 
had a voice that clattered 
like a silverware drawer 
thrown open, she banged
the counters, slammed 
cabinets shut. I’m sad. I’d say. 
Punch the wall, she’d advise, 
you’ll forget it—but I couldn’t
which seemed dangerous, 
but I had to choose.

​

Persephone of the Carpool

​I’m a two-sport student
and only one of them
is masturbation.
Since my mother 
disappears half the year 
I had to find a sport
where I didn’t need
a ride to practice. 
Plus, I train year-round,
no matter what the weather, 
or time of day
and I don’t need
to buy any gear,
saving money. 
In the summer, I swim
on a team. She’s part 
of the carpool
when she isn’t busy.

Michael J Carter is a poet and clinical social worker. A graduate of Sarah Lawrence College he holds an MFA from Vermont College and an MSW from Smith. Poems of his have appeared in such journals as Boulevard, Ploughshares, Provincetown Arts Magazine, Western Humanities Review, among many others. He lives with his two hounds and spends his time swimming and knitting.