Mother, Mother, Mother

My child isn’t a baby anymore.

When he prays, he says, “Dear Father, Mother, Mother, Mother…”

Soon I will teach him to censor his prayers.

But it was after his birth that She came to me. I heard her voice on my heartbeat, smelt her fragrance in my sheets.

Her learning came when I was weak, her strength when I was tired.

She bounced my baby to sleep.

And so when I pray, I say “Oh God, Dear Father and Mother,”

Because when you pick up the phone to call home and your parents put you on speaker

You don’t ignore either of them.

I used to just tell Him,

“Oh and God? Say hi to Mother for me,” politely aware.

Was it impudence to acknowledge? Audacity to ignore? I never knew.

But now I have felt her on my bones.

So when I pray, it is mostly to Her.

I can’t help it.

My knees bend and my heart hymns

Without my beckoning

The sage Goddess, the Great Mother.

They say Her name is Wisdom. I think it is Love.