I put a finger or two into the soil.
It gives.
It smells like healing.
It feels like hope.
I tuck in the little ones, I bury their bony figures in the dirt.
Good night, sweet dreams. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I watch the little ones sleep
I laugh with them and sing to them
I follow the extent of myself down rabbit holes
I give myself tenderly
Because I will always love her
My heart hovers over my body when I think on mothering
Branching canopies over sunlight dappled childhood bed.
Science asserts motherhood - so do the deer in the garden
Each day, the mothers stay and come back. They always come back, I tell them. Mommies come back. Until they don't. When the string is pulled, they will be back, I say. They return in yourself. They never leave.
Hurry! Look! She's grooming her baby.
Watch! They're eating the pears.
Come to the window! The fawns are playing.
First two, then four babies.
They remember me,
In a lantern-lit woods after dark
A red crescent moon over blue-green pine trees
Needles tangle and twist
Cold wind combs your hair,
Woven wool pulls me in, closer to her fingers.
Wax drips on the mirror.
The understory overturns fresh soil,
Ferns and mice play
Waiting for all of us to become them
It will simplify again
Climbing the trees she planted
Cradling and brushing me with leaves
Pink and white mixed together.
I look at a garden window,
My heart taken
My hands hold babies, my womb holds myself
Habitually, I go back in time.
A circular stone ---
It swells.
It flows down my legs.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:25 AM UTC
I put a finger or two into the soil.
It gives.
It smells like healing.
It feels like hope.
I tuck in the little ones, I bury their bony figures in the dirt.
Good night, sweet dreams. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I watch the little ones sleep
I laugh with them and sing to them
I follow the extent of myself down rabbit holes
I give myself tenderly
Because I will always love her
My heart hovers over my body when I think on mothering
Branching canopies over sunlight dappled childhood bed.
Science asserts motherhood - so do the deer in the garden
Each day, the mothers stay and come back. They always come back, I tell them. Mommies come back. Until they don't. When the string is pulled, they will be back, I say. They return in yourself. They never leave.
Hurry! Look! She's grooming her baby.
Watch! They're eating the pears.
Come to the window! The fawns are playing.
First two, then four babies.
They remember me,
In a lantern-lit woods after dark
A red crescent moon over blue-green pine trees
Needles tangle and twist
Cold wind combs your hair,
Woven wool pulls me in, closer to her fingers.
Wax drips on the mirror.
The understory overturns fresh soil,
Ferns and mice play
Waiting for all of us to become them
It will simplify again
Climbing the trees she planted
Cradling and brushing me with leaves
Pink and white mixed together.
I look at a garden window,
My heart taken
My hands hold babies, my womb holds myself
Habitually, I go back in time.
A circular stone ---
It swells.
It flows down my legs.
