the birthing goddess
her body preparing for insemination
the richness pooled among her trenches.
bright red and hot. when she can no longer
contain
it explodes out
with a force we are always unprepared for.

She, our mother.
our creator. we molded in the fire of her womb.
She, our mother, fractionally recreates.
She, knows her purpose.
the crimson show is for no weak man,
men struggle to understand the power
in that core. they, too far removed from
their mothers hands. mother's lands remind us,
but we wear shoes for that.

today, I read that we all began as woman.
my body is the predecessor of my sons.
so invested in LOVE and creation,
she
gives up her organs for the balance of our time.
sacrifices the creative womb
to bring forth the solution. the balance.
she knows instinctively that
her womb
is the power of the center of our Earth.
is the power of the rapture of destruction
the force of the creation of LOVE.
she, our Mother.
like with all children, the farther you are from mom,
the less you remember her lessons.

she calls me to her bedside.
I enter the room, confidence birthing
as I near my Mother's side.
she embraces me, touches my soul
through other family members
and through LOVE.
she sacrifices her easy rotation,
her youthful spin, I feel the dizziness too now.
slowing down with conscious effort within
at my Mother's bedside, I shower her with LOVE,
compassion, tears, nutrition, beautiful flowers to smell,
all the things she taught me.
all the things she gives me.

our Mother Earth who LOVES
our fertile Father
our genetics, the subtleties.

the street lights are on…

do you here your Mother's call?