The soft glow behind the curtains
must be morning at last.
The moon is long set.
I am in my mother's house.
She finishes one more sleep
in the room beneath mine.
I am old,
and she is ancient,
Yet still the mother bond
pulls firm as ever --
The body that encased me,
The voice that whispered
the mother secrets that
no infant can remember,
no woman can forget.
She is here yet.
The soft glow of morning,
The deep green fescue growing,
The distant lowing of cows
in a neighbor's field, calling,
Come, my love, my baby,
Come home to me again.
copyright, M.K. Christiansen
August, 2023
5 comments:
You are blessed to have a mother like this.
MK did you write this? It is very touching, very beautiful! I certainly enjoyed your comment on my post about moving to WV. Would love to be living in one of those big old houses near your mother. Sounds wonderful.
These are precious days but hard ones too. Blessings, GM
This is wonderful, Mary Kathryn. I'm so glad you memories and impressions that bind you and your mother together; you've woven the feelings of home and homestead into your poem in such a way as to make it both concrete and universal. Your love is eternal.
Oh, what a beautiful, gentle poem!x
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