Tag Archives: mother

mother

perhaps I should
go to bed earlier
I would then be
part of the well-rested masses
but
as I stand outside
two and a half hours
past midnight’s chimes
the icy wind biting
at my naked thighs
I look up to
my mother in the sky
waning gibbous, the
full three days gone
with the innocuous
sounds of suburbia
ringing in my ears
(a chirping bird
the wind
and a car door slamming
somewhere in the distance)
I know that this is
my time for being
no street lights shine
but I see such sights
of wonder and peace
and even as my hands
turn numb in the cold
I breathe the night air
and feel the balm
of home

magic

how can you
ever repay
goddesses
who gave you life?
a debt so enormous
unending
and true
yet never once
expected.

woman bore you,
in her body
laughed in the face
of the foul
modern expectation of her life
her work
never finished,
as you grew and squalled.

she bore a life,
and watched it
destroyed by
things she
could never control.
with her own pain
a searing
knife in the heart,
yours, a thousand
needles in her eyes.

yet
she carried you.
she is not made of magic
she is a foundation
on which you built your
independence,
expected by all as
a cornerstone of life

life tells us
she is not made of magic
but look
deeply into her loving eyes,
and it is what you will see
plainer than cotton
clearer than summer sky.
her magic imbues
us all.