Mother
Once a Native American man
told me that if you
lie face down
with head pointed north
and feet pointed south
the earth mother
would accept any grief
in your heart
cleansing you, freeing
you
So at a point
when grief was
a tight fist
in my chest
and every sigh
only seemed to deepen
the grasp of sorrow
and force the arrow
of suffering,
further and further
into my withering
soul
I lay down with
my face in the summer-dry
redwood duff,
let the fragrance seep past my
nose stuffed with the tears
that dripped from my chin,
felt my heart
open
to the silent hum of
the world
while birds and insects
added their
unique voices to a choir
of liquid staccato forest noises;
the ground both received
and rejected
my bones and body’s
weight
And sure enough,
she opened her womb
accepted seeds of
fear, shame, weariness, sadness
the pressure eased-
enough
Guiltily,
I offered an exchange, some
of my sufferings for hers
only suddenly knowing that
her pain was too great for
me to hold;
her suffering was not
understandable
by the little ones
she holds.
January Handl
Very powerful poem, January, thanks for sharing it with us! You are able to convey so much with your poetry, and it adds immeasurably to Retrospect!
🙏🏼❤️
Beautiful tribute to mother earth. Wish we had cared for her with as much tenderness as she cared for us.
🌎❤️
Your poetry is always moving, January. This speaks to sorrow and loss in ways that our essays cannot cover. Thank you for your addition.
Thank you, Betsy!
Lovely poem, January. It reminds me, in all good ways, of Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things.
Humbling! Thank you!❤️