by Kathryn Knight Sonntag


When the body
fills with tiny hooves
pressing in the early hours
before dawn (some

prodding softest flowers)
of past lives cities open doors

mourn the already
granulated shadows
of a new dawn—Christmas crowning—
the first news of chains

(Flanks flash white celestial blue
primordial waves press
my womb)

The way out they say is through
never breaching
the cold earth the kingdom never
over the next horizon

We clan of mothers remember
the light parted the shells dashed the
drawn out
from still-clattering chambers
of the deepest sweetest
twists of tissue There

is the Mother on bended knee
in the great mind of the body
spurring the horses on
and on and on

KATHRYN KNIGHT SONNTAG is the author of The Tree at the Center (By Common Consent Press). Her poems and essays have appeared in many publications, including: Shades: The University of Utah’s Literary Magazine, Wilderness Interface Zone, Exponent II, Psaltery & Lyre, Segullah, and Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought. She holds a BA in English, a BS in environmental studies, and a master’s in landscape architecture and environmental planning.

Featured Image: “Goddess . . . Maybe” by Steve Snodgrass