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The Storm

The Storm

      There is just enough love 
      to know what I should do
      I did not know the spirals
      the zig zag, the sharpness
      of the cuts
      of being your mother

      Thirty five years now of no-sleep nights
      the knocks on the door at midnight
      the 911's of motherhood 
     
      I still hear the echoes of your cries
     burning my ears
     as I stand in the summer rain 
     the amber red lights of porchlights
     flash like the police cars you encounter

     what good will my tears do now?
     shackles that click 
     encircling your strong wrists
     a sound I thought I'd never have to save you from

     You came into this world innocent and hungry
     and when I gazed upon your face
     I named you for the archangel 
     the votives still lit with hopeful prayer,
    
     You are walking in silence 
     over a path of stones,
     in tragic orange,
    a butterfly so beautiful
    with clipped wings.




Elizabeth Dispenza.  all rights reserved 2021

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Brian Sambourne

Date: 9/25/2021 8:52:00 PM

Another superb write. The tension + turmoil of motherhood with its baskets of hope come through beautifully in this remarkable poem. Best wishes, Brian

Jo Chamberlain

Date: 6/24/2021 2:05:00 PM

This was really moving. I was told when I got pregnant as a parent you worry from the day you conceive until the day you die. So true!