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Sing for me mother
of forests and sunlight and green
moss soft underfoot
of blinding blue waves crowding
against stoic rock
sing for me of apples bright
with juice sharp on my tongue
and wheat spread like a blanket across
sing of volcanoes pouring lava like
mother’s milk across their chests and
of grey rain moving like your breath
through the trees
sing of the quiet tide of your
heart that washes over us all
if we know to listen
and of your love rising
like warm new bread
sing to me mother
with a voice of thunder and
eyes of embers
cradle me in arms of oak
and let me sleep
silent and complete
in your embrace
This week, the prompt at ODB asks us to talk about our process of writing poems. For me, after I read the prompt for the week I let it sit for a few days. Eventually it germinates into some sort of visual image, and it is then that I start associating words with it. The actual writing of the poems flows fairly quickly, but sometimes I have to really let it stew for a while.
When I was thinking about this week’s prompt, the image of a haiku blossoming from nothingness was so strong, and the comparison to an embryo seemed natural.
poem as embryo
reaching into the darkness
My son asleep in his crib. For the first. time. ever.
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Today is my twenty-seventh birthday. I am squarely in my late twenties now, which just feels so odd. I know that to many people 27 is young. I don’t feel young this year. I feel heavy. A lot has happened since my last birthday, most notably the birth of my son of course. This is my first birthday as a mother. It is my last birthday before I am a doctor. And I guess I feel like it’s the first birthday as a grown-up. I’ve lived in the limbo of academia for a long time, I’ve always felt adult but this year there are so many responsibilities to keep track of. I don’t know where the time has gone. All day I’ve felt like I was moving through water, present but separated.
My husband brought me a dozen beautiful roses and made me dinner. And then produced a seriously enormous piece of very chocolate cake, which I made an effort to eat but only got about a quarter of the way into. I still couldn’t shake that weight from my shoulders. I thought maybe a bath would help. Usually I take baths with my son, but this time was just for me. I ran the water hot hot hot and poured a generous amount of lavender bubbles in. I closed the bathroom door as my son started crying on his way to bed. (He doesn’t want to go to sleep. Ever. More on this later.) I sank into the water and waited for the weight of the day to wash away. The same worries keep tumbling around in my head like sea glass. They should be worn smooth by now but there are sharp edges still. Am I doing the best I can for my son? Am I providing the kind of care my patients deserve? Does my husband know how much I love him and depend on him? Does my family realize how important they are to me?
The water grew colder and the worries remained. I sat and listened to my son crying. The sound of tiny bubbles crackling. My breath going in and out.
Here’s to a year of adventures. Happy birthday to me.
I haven’t posted any haiku for One Deep Breath for a while, other parts of my brain were in use. Hopefully the haiku lobe hasn’t atrophied too much!
The theme this week is “reflections”. I chose a physical reflection but as I “reflect” on this theme over the week I may add more.
After the clouds pass
Puddled pieces of blue sky
Cradled in concrete
This week’s theme at Mama Says Om is Acceptance. I’ve been writing a lot of haikus lately, I really like the process of distilling a thought into just a few words. Weeds out a lot of unnecessary verbage, which I am prone to anyways.
Just let it all go
breathe deeply and take the step
welcome yourself home
Always trying to welcome myself home…