A mothers plea

shivering light of the red giant

the weymouth’s pine stoops dimly,

casting pale shadows from the west.

through crumbled strains,

a calcified pile reaches ground cover.

colorless heaps catch a breeze,

turning to the wood,

your presence sensed,

fueling gentle wisps,

igniting a resentful gust of wind.

over what’s left, I sit.

loose grains remained,

coming up, I feel you

calling my name.

a voice much older,

whispering,

ascending a request.

“time ground me

against these wooden grains

as I lay here in this pine drape.

remanence of blood

plunged through my flesh,

escaping my mourning veins

every time I tried to come to you;

seeping and seeking refuge,

leaving me desolate

with only fear to cling onto.”

“I tried one summer

in the searing heat,

to taste the sweat the wood sap bled.

out from the deep,

in these expanding staves;

to be born again

of the white pine’s sugar.”

“but God stopped the sun

and Satan turned it red.

laying my tree low, to litter the soil.

with a broken soul’s purpose,

my spirit roared! rising

to clang on heaven’s gates. yet,

your heart had passed on me.”

“I tried to come to you

through thin cracks~

where the wind tapped.

within drops of rain,

feeding the garden beds

of potato and bean,

so that you could forage in spring.

yet all the glamor of it’s fruits

washed away~ clawing

outside the plots,

every day you came.”

“come. please.

turn this soil- take this seed.

let the last bit of me touch your skin.

with a voice fueled only by the

thick high-flown sky,

I ask for forgiveness.

let my plea nest in your mind,

to set you free; in your ears -

to chime and wake your heart.”

“you see, I’m in the space between~

waiting to come to rest in your peace.

to dwell forever, together.

and as you live on,

I can give beat to your heart

once more .... like when

I first became your mother.”