The Way Home
For forty weeks I kneaded a promise,
introducing myself
to an enigmatic stranger
that resided within
stretching boundaries
until he overflowed into my soul.
While his lungs searched the air
for breaths of inspiration
my hands, for the first time,
reached for a warmth
greater than faith or flesh
without hesistation
and without the familiar fear
of rejection.
I’d never before expected so much
from someone so small
or trusted myself so much
to have the courage
to die a little, bury one child
to nurture another
but I did.
Fifteen years
of rough waters and sea monsters
and my tides still rise and fall
by the ebb and flood
of his negotiating moons;
sometimes I feel
as if I’ll be washed away
while garnishing his heart and mind
with vigilant shepherds
but I shine on,
sewing bright buoys to sea foam
so that when someday my lamp has been doused
my son will still know his way home.
Copyright © Jean Marble | Year Posted 2009
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