Mother and I
Mother shares all, sacrificing 'til barren.
She and I are one, united in breath and dust,
the atoms and spirits spinning, fragments of failures,
curiosity and constraint.
I was tempted in the orchard.
I was cold in the desert.
I felt abandoned.
Dreams are feathers fleeing on wings.
Birds of Paradise in the mind's eye.
Destitute yesterday, fruitful tomorrow.
Decadence is a disease. No one is healthy.
We are changing, dying from birth to grave,
I hold onto the internal, eternal while I ramble on and on.
Mother, are you listening?
I live in a trench of contentment, sheltered
in my little world of sun and shadow, small
in my birthplace, blaming and forgiving,
striving and settling,
I'm digging my hands in the dirt.
Mother, you are the daisy, dainty and demure,
fair to the admiring eye, silent like the sunrise.
I pick daisies from your garden and pluck the petals hoping for love.
I may never know...
Mother, you are the redwood, strong and mature,
praising golden sky, healing and wise.
I climb your branches and gather leaves for the wind's storybook,
a lifelong search.
Mother, who are you? Who am I?
We are the distant stars.
We are the rivers nigh.
the daisy and redwood live;
we are earth, water, sky, life and death.
A dream on wings, laboring land,
A prayer on bended knee,
we dance, swim, fly, stand tall.
Sometimes,
I call her friend.
Mother shares all, giver and taker of life 'til the end.
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