For Mothers

The song of your past
can still be heard;
the ebb and flow
of a melody
on some distant wind
that ushers you
into now.
Now,
a string of mothers
have led us here.
Birthed and grown
to birth and grow.
Raised to flourish
to flourish in the raising.
Give rise to the future:
that is your calling
stretched out in the long hours,
bound by your words and
carried by your example.
You can sweep the home clean, but
you can't sweep away the home.
We filled you and
emptied you
repeatedly.
Blood and spirit and life
poured out
from you, tangled in us.
Birthed,
grown,
raised to
flourish
from you.
You are the song and
we are the harmony,
lingering on,
casting foreword
for you.





*Written for my own mother.