Mother

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Mother is there at the beginning

Mother is who you came out of

Mother is food

Mother is sleep

Mother is love

Mother is the first teacher

Mother is nature

Mother is nurture

Mother Nature is Mother

Mother is who I need to separate from to become me

Mother has a wound

Mother is who’s wound I must heal

Mother is who I trust

Mother is who I roll my eyes to

Mother is almost always woman

Mother is taken for granted

Mother is who rejects me and I reject

Mother is who I feel smothered by

Mother is who I am

Mother and daughter

Daughter to my mother

Mother to my daughter

 

May I feel all the wounds

May I speak them

May I heal all the wounds

May I heal my mother wound

May we give back to all mothers

All women

May we give back to Mother Nature

May I give back to my mother

May I give a new future to my daughter

Mother is the beginning

The rhythm of breath

The strum of the heart

Of all that is me and isn’t me

Of unity and division

Mother is the beginning of love

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Overlooking a Cliff

Wonder by Alex Grey

I look into your fifteen-month eyes,
blue opals of swimming water.
In them my soul bathes herself.

Each day you bring countless
smiles to my lips.
Each day you push me to feel my edge.

Overlooking a cliff,
I have choices:
I can soar.
I can plummet.

In the first I find the sky. I face
life, enveloped in lightness. The blue air
tingles on my skin. I am present to each moment.

In the second I trudge in coarse gravel.
A weight pulls me down.
My patience is tried.
I feel sorry for myself.
I react impetuously.

Each day I witness the mystery
of your little body growing.
I see your uplifted hands,
the pink softness of your feet.

I secretly want to take small bites from you.
Maybe because you suck life, in milk
out of my body. Just nibbles.

I hear you forming new words. Each sound
a puzzle piece for the communication
forming between us.
Language, is another marvel.

I tend to you with tireless
limbs. I stay present
with all my strength.
Expanding waves ripple
from my heart.
A love so large it is
nameless.

I am a cradle

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Bicycle wheels turning,
bringing me with them.
I sense the clan of women that was,
and is no more.

Except in the warmth of my lover’s eyes,
or the closeness of a friend or two.

The spinning of my mind
while my body aches.
Wrists bare.
Swollen. Red.

Thunder in my flesh.
Gravel under my feet.
The waves crashing on the shore.
A sound that soothes my tired ears.
Loneliness that rhymes with isolation.

Our story inscribed in
my bones, holding,
arching: a cradle,
for the one I love,
who wasn’t, and now is
intrinsic part of me.

I yearn to get away.
And when I do,
I look at pictures of her,
on my phone.
Her blue eyes
two upside down opals.

The sea reflected in the onset of her emotions.
Murmuration. The dance
of a flock of birds, flying
in unison a cross the sky.
Fluttering harmony.
Perfection so imperfect.