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