Your Migrant Mother

[Leanne]

I wear the veil of past Bedouin women. -- I keep reading this as "Bedouin women past"

Tuesday pitched in Shenzhen spring. -- I like the specificity of Tuesday

The trees decked out -- just a thought: if you use "bedecked" it picks up the b in "birds" for a bit of a sonic chain
with birds and lanterns -
sing song glow.
Sunday had been
grey skies
filled with snow,
my head in a silver fox
against Moscow’s howling winter. -- the geographical contrasts make an interesting map of difficulties

My child, sobbing
in South African Summer,
brings me a Highveld hail storm.
Ice bounces high into the ether -- probably don't need "high", that's implied by "the ether"
lands in skype -- nice!
to become my own hot tears. -- hot tears is a bit of a cliche... you could consider something like "heated by my tears"


I walk with the swollen feet of a nomad.

The seeds of alien ideas -- *Afghan melons -- although the camels are still there (not a suggestion for change, just saying...)
dropped from my bag
flourish. -- I love this idea -- I've used a similar theme but mine are always weeds, nothing edible (no matter how bitter)

I peel mango with the teeth of an african,
and see the juice
coat your chin, William.

I observe with the eyes of a childless mother.
You wipe with the hand of a motherless child. -- these lines demand a repeat reading, so they don't instantly close the poem with a punch, but they definitely hold the attention so that's a winner as far as I'm concerned