Poetry | Issue 1 (April 2023)


Gretchen Filart

my body made milk

poured it into my kid’s mouth

along with my best intentions

strong teeth, antibodies

only liquid gold 

for six years 

not knowing I was

transferring nonbiodegradables

give her the bottle

and she’d collect 1.5 million 

PVC particles 


after milk I give

her shrimp and fish

polymer feeders, all three

at the beach she swallows 

seawater, in between dips 

I watch her

breathe plastics in air 

drink pure water that isn’t

actually pure 

draw and devour 

moon-shaped chips

from a blue plastic packet

every day I realize she 

might as well be eating 


Gretchen Filart is a writer from the Philippines, where she weaves poems and essays about motherhood, love, healing, nature, and intersectionalities. A Best of the Net nominee and finalist in Phoebe’s 2023 Spring Poetry Contest, her work shares space in Rappler, Defunkt, Door Is A Jar, Barely South Review, and others. Connect with her on Twitter, Instagram, and Bluesky @gretchenfilart, or via her website, www.ourworldinwords.com. She’s usually friendly.