I guess it’s time to stop asking questions,
and start answering them.
Wipe away long dead evaporations;
mined trails overgrown with new,
more current vines.
Time to remove the silver duct-tape
from the face of killed memory; (the girl
in the cavern who sits, wide eyed and bound
at her skeletal ankles and wrists at the top
of the wicked peak, looking for a way out –
her green eyes wild and rolling
like thunder and mustangs at the edge
of the drop ,
looking for a way out of this
and replace it with white words whispered
into my own children’s ears.
I cannot judge you.
Just as I cannot judge her.
We are all together in this moment.
And although I’d love to be
the high and mighty mother who says,
“OH! I would never do that to MY kids –
I won’t give him the pleasure.
The one who turned you to glass; beat you
until you were nothing but sunlight
in your own mother’s memory.
She loved me as I love mine (including
the young one who waits for her savior with
the shining scissors; coming through
the dark like rebirth and deliverance;
like a cool cloth on a charred brow).
So I will plant my Mother’s Day lilac tree
in her honor –
burying the questions,
honoring the love we shared
and still share.
We will leave our judgments at the door and sit
beneath its amethyst blooms
your given gift of insight)
exalting in the sacred heart of motherhood;
laughing until we cry;
feeding its deep roots
© Kristin Reynolds 5 9 09
*Dedicated to my Mother this Mother's Day (I hope you are listening...)