we, mother

Mother is a noun
without gender
and a verb
with full teeth.

It is a blind path
among sharp rocks.
It is laps in an ocean
with no horizon.

Mother is an extended hand.

It asks ‘can I lift you’
and does not wait
for a response;
it says ‘I can bear it’
and rises with a grunt.

Mother is a shape
that transforms
with every appeal
and answers,
‘what do you need.’

It is friendship
and kinship regardless
of bloodline.

Mother is time.

It is an open question
whose answer is
‘always, always, here I am.’

It is a worry
that asks, daily,
‘what more
can I do.’

Mother is honor.
It is life.

It is grace earned
with burned feet
and broken eyes.

It is us,
all of us.

We mother
beyond knowing.

We mother
past pain.

We mother
because we cannot help ourselves.

Caring for another being takes many shapes. This poem is dedicated to those who nurture no matter the circumstance.

In loving memory of the mothers we have lost, and mothers we have never known.