not today

no words about story today. today i just live my story in the lines of this poem.

emptying the nest
shreds of motherhood
like gossamer filament of spider web
stepped through, broken, no longer usable
hang about me on this august evening
while crickets spread conversation
like a walton goodnight

inside
children tackle algebra
call boyfriends
sing about bologna
draw portraits of themselves
with number 2 pencils

i sit outside
rocking myself in summer stillness
aware mostly of what I cannot see
knowing mostly what I cannot know

like manna
or love
my motherhood is meant to be spent
like this morning’s spider web in the garden
usable only one day

4 Replies to “not today”

  1. Every mother is like Moses. She does not enter the promised land. She prepares a world she will not see. — Pope Paul VI

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