Dear Mother

Celebrating the greatness of those we have or have had the blessing to call “Mother”. What does Motherhood mean to you?

You are a balancing act

of both splendor and sacrifice.

With grace, you usher in life-

giving and giving,

running dry but giving still.

Do you consider the act of pillaging and taking what is rightly yours?

Sometimes. I am sure.

And yet, within the arc of your back you carry the world

effortlessly and with the understanding

of a world that divided itself

before it could allow your healing to take root.

Counting your dreams, you offer them up and

sing sweet melodies

that have raised up the very vultures

that appear at midday and midnight –

a perfectly timed destruction.

But mother,

I must still not understand and

somehow hope that we never will –

so we dream of whole selves that can fall

on occasion and

hand the bags to another

even for a short while.

Oh, Dear Mother.

grey

Listening now to the sound of the gong,

flowing through the membranes of loss,

of loss brought forward as a sacrifice to the gods,

to the gods of retribution who stand between the clear grey line of,

blackness meeting armed whiteness at the back of police vans,

of gunpowder and stolen voices– anchored unto the seams of the Atlantic,

of the Atlantic heavy with unborn child, clinging to the expanse of being and becoming,

of being and becoming in between the greyness of limitations that are both blinding as

they are obscure.

Listening now to the sound of the gong,

praying hope over the darkness of snatched nights, whispering mothers, walking over the edge,

over the edge of our dreams that lay beside us by day and haunt us as they lay beneath us, all too often.

All too often, do we find the greyness, unyielding,

but always

there