Wednesday, August 2, 2023


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


Sandi said...

You are blessed to have a mother like this.

Henny Penny said...

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.

Granny Marigold said...

These are precious days but hard ones too. Blessings, GM

Gretchen Joanna said...

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.

Kezzie said...

Oh, what a beautiful, gentle poem!x