I wait for you, mother.

Up close, your lips make me smile. They make me touch them, calling to me, wanting me to know who you are… Mother.

I talk to you in a voice too young to speak, I admire you, and I follow you everywhere. In the sun, and in depths where your shadow is sometimes too scared of the dark. I wait for you in the dirt, sitting between winter sun and summer night, and surrounded by the black-eyed susans your eyes are made from. I wait for you to sing sometimes, mama. When the fields are empty, and in moments when you feel alone. I wait for you to continue to love from thousands and thousands of years ago, as any mother would. You know the air, and the wind. And you bend sometimes, to allow the clouds to touch your skin. And you know when to sleep. I see you. In a moment of sadness, you, who gives me life. And how do I help stand up my creator, me, so small. Mother, with wavy, raven’s blue-black hair, how do I, so small, give to you the kind of yellow brightness that sunshine is made from.

Excerpt from
Between mother and earth.