110 - A Women's Song

Several years ago, my mom, who is now, thank God, in stable health and due to celebrate a significant birthday this year, was hospitalized. How impotent I felt to help the one who had always been there for me, who had taught me to take time to taste the wonder of clouds, to savor the melody of the universe. Each year we laugh at the absurdity of the "Hallmark holiday" called Mothers’ Day. I don’t need a day apart to tell her I love her.

One Hundred Ten

A Women’s Song - For B.L.M.

Help me to name myself, Name Maker,
Recapturing the purity of soul
Your Finger placed within me
As I sighed my first earth breath.

Then I was daughter, child, mother-image;
Line-continuer in a way unknown to males.
The blood of bone of Your chosen:
Mine to be, mine to offer.

Now daughter to a different generation,
My name wobbles and crashes in mourning.
Call my name as I struggle to be daughter,
Coping with changes:
Mother caught, me caught, probing for solidity.

Call my name through lives and sorrows:
Friends and husbands and children,
Twirling and swerving, parting, joining.
Call me through rejections and agonies,
When my hands are not enough and my offerings wither.

Redefine me as the colors shift and change,
As I grow older, as my needs are muted or exposed.
Find the new name I answer when challenged,
A name that is respected and obeyed;
Whisper the pet name that smiles at me from memory.

Name me as I name myself, but more gently.
Unfold the arms held tight across my breasts
And pour again Your affection upon my heart.
Strengthen me with memory of Your finger touch,
Renaming this soul You have placed with love.