So many events from the past reappear in a different light, and in that light how often my parenting was found wanting. Can any mother escape blame? We are fallen gods. — Meryl Natchez

This poem is about thirst and how a life of thirst then quenched with a fistful of water can make you contend with all the women you could have been, the children you could have had, and the ever-changing body you are given.

My poems “Revision” and “Definitions” were both written out of a need to grapple with my experience of being trapped and defined by my female body—by the physical, biological, often excruciating facts of it—in a way that men are spared.

That’s an effective strategy, choosing a title that multiplies associations in the reader’s mind even before the poem is read. Will the poem involve any of these things, or instead, play off of my expectations and surprise me?

“When I begin to dig” begins with what sparked the poem: Martha Silano’s discovery that the English word “verse” derives from Latin for “to turn,” itself derived from the action of a plow’s turn at the end of a furrow during field cultivation.

MK Chavez empowers Little Red Riding Hood, an innocent damsel in distress if ever there were one, by giving her autonomy over her body and destiny and, ultimately, recognizing her multiplicity.

By the end of the poem the speaker wholly identifies with Thor, capable of destruction as well as creation and blessing, and the poem ends in a place of tremendous raw power and confidence with her joyfully striking the flat glowing disc of her “own sun.” What a wonderful affirmation of the act of creativity!