Jamail Center for Legal Research
Tarlton Law Library

Archetype

The doctor describes
her patient's disease,
how her mood swings
from passive to livid
in the flick of a wrist.  That's all 
it took to spill hot coffee 
on her mother's lap, 
to burn the thighs 
she once passed between.
Each of us who hold court: 
doctor, lawyer, clerk, and judge,
all of us women and daughters,
know it could have been us
with the cup in our hand.

So it's no surprise 
she is granted her leave, 
released to the mother
who will gather strands 
of her daughter's hair 
to analyze what rage 
is made of, how love turns 
to loathing.  Later, I listen
for the indictment 
in my daughter's voice,
the one that reminds me 
I'm the mother now- 
the source of all 
that is wrong, the reason 
she turns away.

Specter

When my dead cat returns
his eyes are dusky grey
with no spark to light them,
his nose a dark shadow,
the white mark erased. 

That's when I know 
it's not him.  Even though 
he comes when I call, leaps
to my lap with his familiar purr,
I realize it means only 
that he's lonely
and will answer any name
he is given.

And won't we all
quiver at the promise 
of affection, a tender hand,
a warm meal from someone
who sees in us 
what we are not.

Coyote

She lopes along
like she carries no weight,

moves only air 
in the shape of a dog.

She has fattened on summer,
grown thick hazel fur

her shield against winter.
She stops to stare, shows no fear 

of me-two-footed and clumsy.
To her I'm a nuisance. 

To me she is my wild heart
come out into the open.

The mantle of bright green grass
flung across the pasture

mirrors my face in her eyes.

Rebecca Clark coordinates a Volunteer Lawyer Program. Her poetry has appeared in various journals, including, Ilya's Honey, Pebble Lake Review, Wicked Alice, and Gumball Poetry. She resides in Bow, Washington with her husband and daughter. 
"Archetype" was previously published in Watershed, "Specter" first appeared in StringTown, and "Coyote" was previously published in The Horsethief's Journal.