The Prodigal

Motherhood erased
The caesarean scar, the only trace,
A testament to what once was,
It holds a degree of lingering numbness
After these twenty years:
Nerves that cannot reconnect
To a self without motherhood.
Yes, a touch of numbness
As the child with her mother’s face
Turns away, rejecting the truth teller,
Rejecting the baptism of love, of name, of tears.

Let the child walk away.
Perhaps in losing her way,
She will find the path back,
A way to recognize being found
In the reflection of her own face.

Golden Sky

My lost child
Time runs away from us.
Wandering in darkness,
Stumbling over hidden things,
We cannot find our way.

So it will be
That we stand,
Grieving each other
In this darkness.

Sunshine and hope
Filled us
When I pushed your
Swing in the park.
Laughing we touched
A golden sky.

Then, I thought we’d
Never know this darkness.
But it crept around the edges,
Blotting out the golden sky,
Fading to a distant memory
Until you, my child, doubt it ever real.

The Other Day

mother child

While watching a mother and her child at play
Wrapped in the delight of each other
She gives her boy a gentle toss
His tiny arms wide, wing-like
As if in flight
She’s a safety net
As he lands lightly in her hands
They laugh
Their eyes lock, sparkling
Wrapped in the miracle of each other
His arms wind about her neck
His glistening golden head rests upon her shoulder

And this hole, this longing inside remembers
The rapture between a mother and child