I am the Mother
speaking out loud on the stage
of the thunder moon.
While antlers emerge
and the air thickens
with the first full fruits
I gather a whole
sky of clouds in my descent
to earth.

Not one to compete,
I’m moving as slow as time
dances with the stones.
Not one to be rushed,
I’m moving in bursts of joy
and lulls of sorrow.
Love holds the body
the way space suspends the earth
and marries the sun
to our inner light.

As mother I am this bridge
to eternity.
No society
can offer me this pleasure.

An idea takes hold –
fields turn yellow, oceans gold
the mustard flowers
speaking all at once
with light bodies quivering
in summer’s bright sun
will their symphony of cells
like children
to grow tendril-ed roots
in search of wings.
They’re a miracle that sings
back to my strong rain,

that shines into night
where the darkness has gripped me
awakening spice.
I want them to know freedom,
and the taste of tomorrow,
and the trails of their own truths
carried further by the wind,
so I keep falling, landing,
sounding songs through haze
and yellow light. They can hear
my primal threatening rumble.