A Mother’s Nature

 

I am closer to 
nature than those 
many hikes in mountain 
and desert ever brought me. My child 
curls at my bosom 
with small foraging 
movement, hands cupping 
and finding what 
belongs to her. 
Her lips latching me, 
a wellspring. 
The let down begins. 
I close my eyes 
becoming a stream, 
an apprentice of Mother Nature. 
Balanced on a ritual 
as old as origin, 
we are interdependent, 
little star and full moon.

 

Read more poems

 


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>