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.