Non-Standards Of Motherhood Poem by Amelie Ison

The mother did not want to eat her young—
Her bloodline; her babies; her sweet devotions—
But she was forced to make a great sacrifice
To keep herself going strong.

She did not want to kill the helpless beings,
To which she had given her soul;
But that was all they were: helpless,
And she knew it was what must be done.

Her children did not cry when she clamped her jaws around their heads—
They just saw their mother; washing them so they'd rest.

Their skulls were soft and delicate; just like any newborn's would be,
And when she sank her teeth into the bone, a painful crunch filled her ears.

Yet, so quiet, that if you had made the slightest sound,
You wouldn't have heard a thing.

When each of them were dead, the mother cried.
There was no more life inside the den—
The little sighs her daughters had made
And the way her sons did squeak…
She missed it all: her children; her life,

But she had to eat her young, for she could not produce milk.
She had to eat them, and she did.

She ate them slowly, one by one, and tightly closed her eyes—
She would see them all in heaven one day and apologise.

After, she cried a sad and lonely song,
For her beautiful, dead pups to come home;
But no one ever heard the melody,
For, inside the den, they were all dead, and the mother left their bones.