You carried me, I will carry you.
Shared blood circulates outside the womb,
survives the thinning wounds of fledgling cuts, distance, difference.
May the love to raise a child grow twofold
to assist a parent bowing back to the Source.
We’re born into this hall of mirrors,
yours the first face
out of the oneness.
Bless the struggle to be totally yourself
in the bond of love.
In love, all is free. No repayment for such a gift
but giving.
It has been said that every person you meet was undoubtedly your mother
in some life or other, and you theirs, over incalculable time.
How grateful can we be for each other, for this life?
I bow to the Earth, eons of dust to dust blown free with Spirit—
gather cut flowers for Mom, fragile vase, time-bound moments
forgetting into the clarity of the moments
all no less precious
than a whole creation lost & found in midwifing and becoming
poems written in flesh and love and care
through the endless rounds.
Every day is Mother’s Day.
I love you Mom.
Charles Mattoon