A Psalm of Maternal Gratitude

Making your way.

So miracle. 

I am joined, because of you,

to countless generations of women

who have surrendered

their bodies to the great unknown:

new sensations everyday,

hopes and fears and prayers everyday,

unraveling mysteries everyday

connective

disruptive

magical.

We women, oh my God: 

what we do to continue.

You, joining me to that continuation

because you chose to be alive

and I don’t understand how that happens

but I cry envisioning the resolve in you,

you once a little swimming thing 

in a group of other swimming things.

You of all them that made it,

made it into me like hallelujah, yes, here I go.

You precious, strong growing everyday. 

And you are inside, but the external is different now.

So much softer now, less willing to sharpen or harden now,

or fasten tight to futile protectiveness. 

Now.
Yes, you are teaching me these things:

let it change you, reform you, stretch you, remake you even if

it means being ripped apart in the process—

the world, this you-world-inside-me,

teaching me what it means to give absolutely everything,

which is loss and blossom at the same time.

How can I thank you?

Still inside, and

already 

changing the whole wide world...