Mother, Part 2

To be a mother is a fearsome and blazingly gorgeous thing. 

To endure through rising hopes and devastating losses, as you will a tiny spark to ignite within you. 

To nourish, cherish, allow this deepest longing to take root and grow, pushing aside your very own organs to make welcome room for a soul’s home.

To surrender your body to the panic and peril of giving birth to new life. Walking the rough edge of courage many women have walked before you, death and life hovering at the edges of the same room. 

To hold that tiny new body, knit by the Divine, but of your fabric. Your heart held, now outside of the protection of your skin, muscle, and bone. 

To be food, milk, sun, moon. 

Softness, comfort, correction, delight. 

Tiger, commander, shelter, homeland.

Your whole heart, a map and compass, fixed unwaveringly upon progress, eyes alert for impasse or warning. 

To contend with fear, champion their becomings, and urge them upwards. Always. 

To carry their weight, absorb their pain, give them all, 

All your life, lifting them up, just a little higher, to reach the better apple.