deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hymn to the Mother

This one is for women.

Childless women.

The ones who have been
asked with that curious eye
�So why don�t you have kids?�

as you turn to say �actually
it�s got fuck all to do with you,
Sandra�

and it hasn�t.

Not a thing.

Because I think of my womb
as priceless�
so priceless, my child
could not afford to stay

and so
I cut out the shape of my Evey
as though she is a paper-doll
and motherhood is the scissors

I curl

her hair as if it is bright
and blonde
and beautiful

I sit

her tiny body on my thigh
feeling her weight
because all I hold
is weightlessness

endless
fucking
weightlessness
.
.
.
my girl

if you have lost all hope,
if you have lost your sanity
in that pinprick silence I tell you
that you are not any less as a human

any less as a woman
because you cannot fill a crib

because
hands are made to hold
and a heart is made to love
and blood is your earth song
anchoring you to alive.

So shine, darling.

Shine as if your sorrow
is the last star
in a dark sky

shine as though memory
is the re-birth of release.