Mother

In the still of the darkness You are the light Children make chaotic melodies out of those who carried them By way of one or another And sometimes they are called mother She is the beginning We are tethered to her from her fingertips to shadow Wherever she goes we linger like loose string on a sweater She is catching missteps and teardrops And then weaving lullabies into the night sky My childhood smells like my mother's skin And the brush of her cheek against mine My mother looks like the glow of dusk resting on the skyline Silhouetted in the cove of our kitchen Our mothers complicated nightingales How easy it is to push her away Yet, we are craving her gaze upon us She is the first we are crying out for her in the dark Is to say that we are enchanted with our mothers In ways we never stop painting pictures for her to hang She is the only cure for fevers and bad dreams All the luxuries of the world pale in comparison to anything she has ever touched Not the way she tucked the sheets into the bed Cooking, home and her love are synonymous with one another She made life seamlessly flow from one season to the next As if she hushed the moon to sleep and called the sun to wake Never outgrowing her imprint She is who we see reflected as we unconsciously mimic her essence unto our own children The character of the mother could raise empires and make mountains crumble They are as much a gentle breeze as they are tornadoes Hiding the length of her hair Her sacrifice all too often unnoticed Mother may bare the weight of salvation and deliver it to the world And still sit on the side of thrown Her needs and wants evaporate by the sound of her children Her exhaustion never seem to derail her from bending to One more story One more kiss One more hug She knows all too well that the last be the last time she is asked I now understand as I hold my young children what twenty years time will feel like in this home Idle To do lists completed Silence from the furniture Unmoved Floors kept Sleep begotten night after night Yet still I worry So here I rest in the fog that has captured me Call it stockholm A distant echo of who I was Small glimmers come through But now I stare across the lake looking at myself Waist deep surrendering to the wake Gladdened by the cries that pull me deeper It is to my children I rise now not the sun For what I mistaken to be the universe was inside of me all along They are infinity unexplained And Maybe if I plant trees along the way they will stay close And when they out pace me I will give them meadows too roam For when they look back I shall be there Children ready before their mothers will ever be But on my call darlings return back to me Motherhood Navigating a ship in the night when the stars are rearranging themselves Mothers holding small hands walking them through life Hoping that those same hands will be there to walk us out If I am to leave any legacy it is that when my children think of me they feel home Children come through us Landing here between worlds in eager arms Some still waiting Some grieving The privilege is mine to be mother To have experienced Something so common yet profound A constant reminder of divinity A love so enduring I found myself being able To breathe underwater In the still of the darkness They are the light It is through my children Humanity is restored in me Reminding me to pull back the helms All around me I see now through the eyes of Mother Pending patience over intolerance Giving more of myself than I ever knew I could If I am to contribute to good of this world May it be unconditional love my children carry through them Mother Spooling the lead Webbing sanctuary Letting my children run free Chasing the wind arms extended But on my call my darlings Return back to me Return back to me Back to me