Calling All Mothers

By Kate Stukenborg

Mothers, for your children I know you would draw 
the whole sky out of your lungs in fistfuls and, panting, 
wrap it with a bow and paper, 
so they would take the gift without guilt.
Ahmaud is your child, and Breonna, and George, 
so when you hear his cry, “Mama, I can’t breathe.”
reach inside yourself and give. Mothers, I’ve seen you wrap your frail hands with steadiness
around scalding pots of coffee and dishes of comfort food,
so when you fold your fingers around those names in prayer 
and your palms sting and burn with the pain of their absence, pray on. I know you have walked your blistered heels across deserts 
with life resting heavily inside your swollen self,
across oceans with crying children in your arms and on shoulders,
so take to the streets, Mothers, and walk.
Walk the souls of your children 
through the valley of the shadow of death, and defeat it 
with your purposeful step and your voice 
that extends words of comfort along the way.Mothers, put down your ointments and tender songs,   
they cannot, will not heal this wound. 
Call on the angry beast of your heart that beats for justice, 
and fight for this country of children to live, to breathe. 
We are all children and deep in our bodies 
that we did not create and nourish to life, 
we know that we need Mothers, 
to give and pray, to walk and fight
for Ahmaud and Breonna and George and many others,
for children who can’t breathe 
and a country that is also suffocating —  
America, too, needs Mothers.

Kate Stukenborg is 19 years old, and she is from Memphis, Tennessee. She will be attending the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in Fall 2020, where she plans to study English and Comparative Literature.