Looming

The mother is the architect Gently sculpting the loom Patiently weaving life. Generously she offers Every kind of sustenance Bountifully for all But the garden is too small Overgrown and heavy The scaffolding buckles Sighing beneath the weight Of her prodigious ripe fruit The trellis is in transition Vines grow wild, Fruit falls to the ground The children lament Weary worn gardeners retire worn gloves The apprentices bloom ambitious botanists Fresh faced youth dreamy-eyed and hopeful as they extend the lattice mindfully making room— for what the great mother will birth next.

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Written by

aneesah-lionheart

English

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