Friday, April 12, 2013

Theirs In The Lonely World

The day spent in dull stupefication but for the roar of coffee in my veins, the suck of Ever at my breast.
And then, the most amazing richness saturates every molecule and I see my children's faces each always at the same age, captured around 6 years old, eyes especially, looking directly into me and shining with a pure unadulterated love and contentment that lets me know not only have I been far luckier than I dare to understand, I have done a good job as a mother. If I sit in in a shady spot under a tree in a field and the sky is broken open just above and there is a long, deep, blue streak where you can see forever, if the wind is blowing, if the trees call to one another in their shaky ancient voices, if my body has let go into the tiny link between star and dirt that I am, at that moment when the most profound joy and truth rises, it is my children and it is mothering that most calls to my bones and soul: has it been good? Has it been the most you could give? And I cannot say I am close to perfect, but I can say it has been good, and the most I could give. For that, eternally grateful.

Yours In The Lonely World,

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