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The Radical Mother Who Holds Us All

The Radical Mother Who Holds Us All

Drink from my well, she tells me,

And I will replenish you.

Bathe in my waters,

And I will embrace you.

Let my fields caress your feet,

The dew kiss your toes

As you stroll over the undulations

Of my landscape.

Let the thick blanket of my forest

Shelter your spirit,

The mud that cakes

Like paste on your skin

Be a salve.

Feast upon my beauty,

Not with your eyes,

But with your heart.

Feel the joy of the sunflowers,

Dancing at the ragged edge

Where asphalt meets dirt.

The alignment of sun

Between two half-moon rocks,

Cradling the ribbon of water

Cascading off a bluff, the refraction

Of light off the spray.

The rust-stained cliffs, encrusted

With iron that once poured forth

From my womb, birthing life,

Birthing us,

Birthing now.

Imagine that.

Can you imagine that?

Can you imagine that life

Is bursting forth in every moment?

Even now,

When the soil is cracked and parched.

Even now,

When the wounds of the past bleed open

And hearts spill out with grief.

Even now.

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