The f/act of m/other
contains us in differences
yet we are pulled
by the heart's tides
the pulses of our children's veins
the salt of their tears
the radiance of their laughter
we grow up knowing
bittersweet symphonies
body-memories
of blood and milk
the consciousness of
the precarious cadences
in the disordered music of love
and everywhere
mothers write stories
of sons and daughters
this one will be fierce
this one will be tender
and they will sing
terrifying, beautiful prophets
for the world
in the gaps between our words
our children's voices pull us
relentless magnets
anchoring us
to the earth.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
M/Other by Rishma Dunlop
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1 comment:
Isn't this true? Good Lord, it's beautiful.
Bittersweet memories of blood and milk.
Beautiful!!
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