there is a void inside of me
a cavern filled with water stilled by time
when the solstice arrives drops of sunlight seep in
mostly the void is dark, forgotten
even in the whispers of the aged

the void is inside me
it is the imprint of my children
who I did not raise
who were whisked away
the pain of their birth dulled
by the pain of their removal

and my body exhausted does not respond
to the anger inside my mouth
the anger that rises from maternity
centuries of childbirth adhered to nature
and I am the experiment
the other side of sensibility
the unnatural

I have become domestic, domesticated
and you ride me like a horse
tugging my head from side to side
the reins in your hands
bleed the words in my mouth
to silence

my eyes filled with fear
careful to watch my every step
so as not to jolt you
forcing you to punish me
as I have not been punished enough

the void is inside me
my retreat even from myself
as I have retreated from the natural world
dead inside, dead in a bottle of booze
liquid that soothes, running over
scarred ridges inside my mouth
scarred by your hands
your responsibility of me
and my responsibility to self
waits

This poem was first published in The Lifted Brow 37. You can purchase a copy here.

Yankunytjatjara Aboriginal Poet Ali Cobby Eckerman is the author of seven books, including the verse novel Ruby Moonlight, the poetry collection Inside my Mother and the memoir Too Afraid to Cry. In 2017 she was awareded Yale University's Windham Campbell Prize in Poetry.