I remember my Mother
As I knew her, I a child of the 70’s
She- Mother Wild, Mother Earth
I remember her digging and planting
In a deep squat
Hovering over rich turned earth
Creating garden beds resplendent
With vibrant colors, textures, tumbles of flowers
And scents that to this day
Speak of home
I remember my sister and I traipsing after her
A cat or two, and a dog in tow
Learning all the things that the cool woods
Open field, under brush, briars and pond’s edge
Could yield as food or medicine
Mullen oil for ear aches, jewel weed for poison ivy
Fiddle heads, blueberries, mulberries
Elderberry and sumac made into jam- the most brilliant
Jewel taste on the tongue
Blackberries staining our fingers and mouths
Boiling them to make dark amethyst jams
Or baked into pies that taste like mother’s love
She was my Mother Wolf
My Wildling Woman
My true North and connection to the divine

But time passed
And some things have changed
Age heralds in fear where fearless once stood
Pain becomes the slippery slope to sedentary, to insular
The Mother Goddess glimmers through some times
And her eyes sparkle remembering
But her days in a squat
Turning the earth
Or wandering forests stalking the wild sustenance
Are past.
I feel that as daughters
We find ourselves in search our Mother’s gardens again as we age
Where her fingernails were crescent mooned with rich soil
And spider webs and morning dew clung to her long hair
Where her bosom smelled of roses when you snuggled into her
As she sang in birdsong to teach you the language of flight
Where for a time you had common ground literally and figuratively
Where she taught you to stand tall and ferocious
Among the jasmine and false indigo
And HOWL in all your glorious female child divine
At the rising full moon.

I a single Mom of two teenage boys, a massage therapist and physical therapy assistant living in New England. I have been writing poetry and journaling stream of thought since I was a young girl. Writing has always been therapeutic and at times life-saving for me. Bleeding ink onto paper has been as natural and important as breathing. In my late 40’s I begin to consider sharing my writing and publishing. I have always been so grateful for other authors and being able to see that I am not alone in my struggles along my path in this world. I hope my writing can give others the same lift, hope, sense of belonging.

Find me on Facebook at: Darker Rooms and DeeRay