Mother
What is a mother? Is it birth?
In a way, for that is the Earth,
the need to seed, to procreate
that is, our natures obligate.
Is that a mother’s duties done;
that’s all. I’m through. I have a son.
It was and is, and was again,
ignorant to the silent pain;
never knew quite how to mother;
left it to a father’s other;
appearing now and then through years,
a hand held out, an eye of tears.
You gave him life; he buried you
It’s what a son and mother do;
and all that lay between those two
are things you missed and never knew.
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