For My Mother, and all the Mothers in my Life

Mommy, why is there clouds?
When there’s more than one, say "are," not "is," and don't talk quite
so loud.

Mommy, is there a God?
Of course there is, and He wants you to eat all your cod.

Mommy, where do babies come from?
You know where they come from, so don’t play dumb.

So you’ve held back the sun and the moon and the sky
In your apron strings long enough
The birdies can fly…
Uncertain, you watch them take wing beyond the mountain
Where you hope they are safe, as at ease as you know they are free,
And you see their signs in the rise of the sun and the moon as it rests
Every day behind that green, stone breast.

You wait for their return
Knowing they’ll never come,
The same way you waited for them to learn,
On their own,
What you taught:
That their mother was alive inside of them
Yet familiar as the grass outside,
That their mother gave the whole wide world to them,
Yet put them above the highest tide.

You watched as the bike spokes spun like wheels of karma
Down and down again without a sound,
Except to say "try one more time."

You waited as they zagged to cross the maze,
Not saying where the crumb
You wanted them with all your heart to find, was hidden.

You scolded them for what it hurt you to learn,
And prayed to make it softer going down, this time.

Now, with all your mothers gone,
No word on how to learn
What wasn’t there to learn the time before,
The judgment you suppressed
Must somehow turn to trust
In your own perfect, never separated self…
For there is no easy birth,
No certainty to questions of in- or out-er worth,
But that’s all that’s ever asked of you
By the heart forgiving earth.