For The Mothers

For Simon

When I first held you
Red, wet and beautiful
Felt the breath in your small body
Looked into those eyes
Seeking and clouded
As you turned for the first time
To the sound of my voice
I knew then, why I came here

I felt a shifting within me
Deeper than I ever knew
Or believed myself capable
Of an emotion so tangible
That it physically gripped me
In my once lonely heart
And in that wordless moment
I gave you my soul

All the strength I possess
Every lesson hard won
Is a gift for you
To lead you onward
In your pursuit of dreams
And a life lived well

You are my sun and moon
My horizon, my ocean
I vow always to guide you
With empathy and honesty
To be your port in the storms
That will surely try to sink you
As your vessel sails
The swells and sorrows
Of love and learning

I am a Mother, a mountain
Your mirror and your sword
The day you came into my life
I became two people
Growing larger inside
Making space for your laughter
In the hollow places
Where once only sadness
Lay silent and serpentine

We make a circle, this family
Connected by threads
Gossamer yet unbreakable
Invisible, intangible
And more beautiful than a sunrise
On the first day of Spring

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Rain On The Windows to My Soul

It is a long road, full of shadows and leaves glowing with golden sunlight
It is full of laughter that makes your eyes water, and tears that wet your cheeks and drown your inner voices
It is scattered with thorns and flower petals

She loves me, she loves me not…

Now the leaves of the oak tree will illustrate
How beautiful it can be to fall
From our own heights attained, we tumble
And in this way, we learn our lessons

Leaving only footprints in the groves, or ribbons in the boughs
We travel onward as a wind,
Who whispers in the meadow

Others pass us by like clouds
Bearing a welcome shade or a violent storm
We wear the marks of their passing in our blooms courted by bees
Or trampled with tempest
But always the world turns and the time will come
To risk it all in withering, sending forth our seeds
Seeking root elsewhere in those fertile soils
Of friends we have yet to meet

Where The Pets Go

If I see a wild bird fallen, broken in mid-flight by a window pane that showed only sky

There, contorted and feasted upon by industrious armies of red ants

Do I feel sadness, pity for his ending in the grass?

No, I do not.

When I see a bird of glorious color, plumed and proud on a plastic bough.

Those wings folded and flaccid, feathers who once knew humid jungle currents

Swift eyes now darting between bars at his passing admirers, price tag putting his freedom on sale

I see he has a very long life to live, full of well fed idolatry, enslaved to the beauty

Of his evolutionary legacy

Do I pity him, a captive prince with his red plastic bell? Do I feel sadness when I see him pluck his shining feathers with hopeless self-loathing?

Yes, I do