the mosquito buzzes
close to your ear
its high
strained
whine
a warning
that soon
there will be a landing
a tapping
for your blood
milk
has been put on the grocery list
October’s calendar marked
for costume shopping
and zombie make-up
for your son
tomorrow’s lunch
is in tupperware
for your husband
you finally RSVP’d
to the party
and the dog
well, he’s by your side
as usual
napping like a cat
but ready to follow
in an instant
tail a-wag
and anxious
for the next exciting thing
with any movement made
from your chair
you are not sleeping
but not fully
awake
and dreams are distant
from where you sit
this morning
you know
you are no
zombie
and blood-suckers
are swooshed away
yes
you are
in costume
you
artist
dreamer
stardusted traveler
all dressed up
like a citizen
a mother
a wife
mother bodies arc
forming thresholds
that cannot
hold
the immensity
of life
and death
we are but vessels
through which
the deepest pain
and greatest joy
seep and surge
a woman deep
in labored birthing
is asked to call upon the Gods
plea for help in delivering
her baby
though every name
of every saint
she knows is uttered
as she bears down
she merely slips
into a darkness
filled with
nothing
and there is another
the newest mother
her gift
of angelic perfection
swaddled in pink
less than seven pounds
with sweetly wrinkled
fingertips
fresh from the watery womb
now here
in the air
she needs everything
but her house
has a father that stays out late
spits insults in the kitchen
and a mother
who leaks tears
as she is nursing
oh, and there are, too
those written words
that call
from the other side
of grievous pain
one mother’s loss
of her son
not yet four
she is being asked
to hold the burn of searing flames
to the deepest place
within her heart
and still walk
among the living
“seals may bite”
is the sign
at the trailhead
warning of an
“extremely protective mother”
almost extinct
completely defenseless
monk seals
mother and child
loll in low tide
at the far end
of the quiet beach
the small baby
close
one flipper
resting gently
on its mother’s belly
basking
in the sun
in another place
it is night
and he is illuminated
by firelight
and the inspiration
of seven years
culminating to this moment
of making wishes
in whispers
close to his mother’s face
heart’s desires
carried on hopeful breaths
scented sweet with jelly beans
and all things
possible
he gasps
“I wish that the sky would rain hot dogs
that you would live forever
and never die”
we are mothers
living portals
standing passages
for
all
to sieve through
life
death
everything
nothing
and yes
even
the profoundly undefined
it’s everyday
as our hearts curve
around
our absurdly beautiful appointment
we pass you
on the street
filled with an endeavor
that cannot be given
real words
though we hold our lists
buying broccoli
at the corner store
and saying
‘thank you’
when given
change
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