A Mother

Jane Ray “Well”


I carry the restless, unfulfilled desire and the overflowing cup in one hand,

a child in the other.

I carry the abandonment to sleep, the heaving chest, the heavy eyes,

the weight of dreams, on my back.


Blossoms bloom from sepal shaped shackles

that still flowing streams.

My leaves fall awake in cold currents.


I carry the water, that carries the leaves, leaves

that give way to blossoming waves

that crest and break,

crest and break.


I carry armfuls of blooms,

lists in shopping bags,

a thousand ripe, unravelling things,

brimming miscellany, missing pieces,

my arms outstretched like wings.


I carry wishing, waiting,

loss and triumph.

I know what victory means

and what it doesn’t.


I carry the torch and I carry the darkness

That makes bright the stars

In my arms.

In my arms.



3 thoughts on “A Mother

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