P O E T R Y 

 M O T H E R

by Callie L.

Water of the earth

The break before birth

 

She whispers in waves

Unfurling

 

She is the vine that binds

The red threaded lines

Into labour of 

Sowing

And yearning


Forebearer, mourning and 

Eve

She ripples

And streams into spring

 

Oceans twirling

Small fingers 

Curling

The little one begins to sing

“We wax and wane and then we wait”

This is mother’s lullaby

 

Only instinct is here

Surrounding soprano

Within every howl and wolf cry

 

Primal, the dwelling place

A secret

  Ingrained in instinct

Warm in her floret-woven braid

Womb is how we first learned home

Crimson and marrow in every bone

A garden enclosed, 

She waits

And with each month, she anticipates

Through every strain, stretch and belly-ache

When will birth respond? 

The roar of her, awake?

The final sting of delivery

It is merely a mystery

And yet - it is only the cusp that cuts into the beginning

For in all living 

We are pushing 

Dying

To be born

And die again

In waters bleeding open

The message still unspoken

Mother

. . .

The cord is never broken.

Downtown Boulder, CO

© 2019 by Medicine Maiden

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