A/N: This poem is dedicated to my mother, along with this instrumental I created to go along with it.

I am adjunct to birth and death.

Undraped, I emerge from womb—a pupa

I barely cried,

it was a spring birthday when it should have been an aqueous summer dream.

Sense flees me

before the world even spins,

a dimension of then nothing to a shiver of life;

 perception as a bleeding star,

alone far in an unseen sky; bones from flesh, over on bellies to ribs.

Mother, you gave me life,

in each ocean, each sea

you gave me love;

Bled onto your hands

the dark ice

that booms from above

in earth or death

you brought me

from the lonely specter mourning our sands

from first breath,

down from alluvial soils

in the return of the waves

that fetter my flesh,

and yellowed fertile sands blight

the tremors of our twigs and wings, our war poppies

by each ribwort, with each a rock

by the bleeding of the sea;

I love you, mom, you gave me everything

when everything was never I deserved;

you never waned your love,

it never became broken

like the torment of the branches

in laden snow…

almost dreaming in a prelude,

hands in slumber upon the cold keys,

always, always an orchard in the wind that blows

with each melody I’ve played for you

to see the nature of your smile;

your freedom in the twilit dusk,

the shadows that burst

through bones,

throughout the surf of a dream,

light has gone as the lone augur

in fortitude,

in solitude.

Oh, mother,

you’ve cradled my head

and wiped my tears away

like the blue seeds

in the birthplace

of the dark earth

and breath,

torn into the phantom of this world,

silence of an isthmus

in the mist of your voice;

a conch shell

bare with bone-white blossoms,

look at me, mother,

I’d be void, a pupa or egg,

wounded in a cocoon

I’d be conjured by the swam blood

of each shadow

if it weren’t for you;

look at me, look at me

as I say these words

held in this dream

never with finality

to the eyes, to the surface of our mercy,

our raw bone, our piece of god in our chest,

beating like frost

cast with wave by wave

into the black fruit of the tree

where memory lives

in each shard along a path

that has seen more than we’ll ever know—

I love you, mom.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved.

32 thoughts on “Mother.”

  1. Darling Lucy, you have made this mother cry with tears of wonder. Thank you for your beautiful poetry, it is very moving. ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 2 people

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