If Mother Could Rest
If I rise out of being her child,
if I rise out of being a child, if
I rise out of my identity, and
drift as a seed before she and my
father called me into the world,
I can see how frightened she’s
been of this life. Far away
and out of her reach, I can
wish her peace. At 86, she’s
losing her mind. The tragedy
is she didn’t lose it sooner.
This excerpt is from my book, The Way Under The Way: The Place of True Meeting, 2016 Nautilus Award Winner.
*photo credit: Pixabay