Animals: “Postpartum” by Gabriela Denise Frank
Postpartum
The trailing edge yields silent flight she mates for life in abandoned nests her habitat expanding east to west she preys on crabs snakes newts poulet the occasional shrew frogs chickadees rabbits too witches brew of indigestible remains—bones et fur, plume et yeaux (ew)—fuel pair-bond coupling bedding down forest-bound a dive bar in a West End town the plumpest breast mottled brown wide eyes lined in heavy kohl Maman dances a courtship duel no a pas de deux with Papa in sweeping arcs ‘neath the disco ball while Luther Vandross croons never too much / until you come back to me.
By spring the barred lovers brood a clutch of downy owlets deux siblings borne to hop and branch two smale foweles maken melodye and fledge in five fortnights—six months—not nearly soon enough.
Who? Who cooks? Who cooks for you all? Hourly, the chicklets hoot and mewl Plus voles! Plus moles! Plus écrivisse! Their moonlit cries assault her offset ears: Why-why-why so crooked, Maman? (sigh) The better to hear you with mes chers. Dawn to dusk, Papa delivers the wriggling prey et Maman feeds them bill to bill. The owlets’ raucous squalls More-more-more! We likes it red and wet! send her beyond reason beyond wisdom beyond parliament—she cannot abide the stench of their ichthys ammonia mixt with blood’s rusted iron—Shhh enfants! Maman is tired!
She bursts into the starred night seeking refuge in the nearby temple, knowing the gray-eyed goddess is out on the prowl. But the spoiled virgin returns too soon. At midnight Athena bursts in whistling, the snake heads on her breastplate hissing, wakes the house, puts a record on, commands Maman, Come down, chouette! Alight on my shoulder, and I’ll catch you up on all the hot goss.
Et voilà. There goes the tender putain de peace.
Ruffled, roused, black-eyed Maman hawks pellets at the goddess’s feet, wrathful Pallas perfumed deathly sweet. From the rafters Maman side-eyes, shrieks, I’ve not had a full night’s sleep for weeks! The karma of her maternal fury, immortal, divine (the same as birthed you, dear reader) wells up her spine and wrenches Maman’s feathered head—twists it, turns it, spins it on its axis, full ‘round.
About Gabriela Denise Frank
Gabriela Denise Frank is a literary artist, editor, educator, and winner of the Fern Academy Prize. Her work has appeared in BOMB Magazine, DIAGRAM, Northwest Review, Epoch, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. The author of the forthcoming fiction collection "How to Not Become the Breaking" (Gateway Literary Press, 2025), she serves as creative nonfiction editor of Crab Creek Review. www.gabrieladenisefrank.com