Mother

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Maternal Admiration, 1869
William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Maternal Admiration, 1869

 Mother

I held her in my arms,

and she was perfectly beautiful.

My body shook, cold,

like I was pulled from an icy river, 

somehow she warmed me.

Did she know she would chang me

forever?

 

Pain unrivaled, hour upon hour,

trudging up this mountain,

one step forward, one back,

not quite reaching the peak,

my initiation  was not yet complete.

Would I pass 

the test?

 

It was almost more than he could bear

Pacing the  floor,

worry lines creasing his forehead.

Helplessness written on his face.

He was my knight,

always rescuing me, but

that night I became 

his hero.

 

After eternity, she found me worthy.

I’d fought hard, 

this woman-child body,

just twenty-one, old enough to drink,

yet still full of childhood illusions

of playing house.

I had earned my rank,

won the prize.

 

That first night she cried so much,

had she changed her mind 

and found me wanting?

Was she as afraid as I, of  my

falling short, not measuring up?

There was no turning back now.

Laying in my arms, she must have

felt my fear, her little smile

spoke volumes.

‘You’ll do just fine,

Mother’.

3 thoughts on “Mother

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