The All Mother Poem by Liberty Smart

The bare-breasted,
Cross-legged idol
Waits with ancient patience
For the coming of her children
Philistine babies whose saliva, cold,
Covers her seven nipples
With an immodest gleam
Her mothers' milk drips
Seductive, from shining teat
Into the mouths of her hungering kin.
It waters, nourishes, the seven lands
And she sits, a crumpled form
Pouring out her life for loved ones
The All-Mother on a cloud,
Bruised and angered,
Forgotten, cries milky tears