Here is the river--
the river full of stones.
The mourning dove and the dawn
come to hear the river rush
over the many stones.
The hem of my skirt is wet
as I cross the icy river--
the river filled with stones.
I have come to cross in the quiet dawn
across the passing years and the rushing river.
I am a mother who was never mothered--
a river rushing over the many stones.
My child and the mourning dove of dawn
come to watch me crossing
the cold waters of the rushing river.
Here is the river, clear and cold
like the breath I borrow from every dawn.
I am a mother who was never mothered.
The icy river flows and is filled with stones--
I step carefully, feet numb, heart rushing like the river.
Can beauty clothe such heartbreak? Your lines do.
ReplyDeleteWhat Dora said. "I am a mother who was never mothered" . I feel that line so deeply. The beauty of the river - the stones, the mourning dove - so beautiful and sad. And yet we unmothered ones seem to have such big hearts and we mother/mentor so many others........
ReplyDeleteThought the dawn brings light, there is that darkness in the stepping I sense the most in this--a cold, gray, wet journey to the other side. Beautiful, skillful work.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
ReplyDelete