THE MOTHER

Mothers
(For Leita)


See how we build
My wise greathearted friend

Ours are not the rewards
Of dollars or praise
A babies sated milk deep sigh
A toddlers sticky kisses
Fleeting moments like butterflies wings
That touch between our fingers
Brush bright against our lips
And then are gone
Into the sunmist of time

The ribbons of our teaching
They will gather and weave into themselves
To be claimed as their own
In the end
The production of our lives
Will stand alone
And we will silently sit the shadows

For it is the nature of things
That open hands
At last
Are empty

And yet
We work on
In some strange way fulfilled
From the glittering pain of beginning
Towards a harvest we will never see
Vital links
In the mystery chain
Of creation

Artisans of solid dreams
Oh See!
See how we build

©Edwina Peterson Cross