The Child is a mother and child poem, a reflection on growing up and letting go, all the while weaving a web of love and support.
The Child – Mother and Child Poem
Here the child buries
his face in Mothers woven scarf.
The sobbing ebbs to the warmth of her skin,
the child's breath bends and blends
with her lullaby and hot cocoa.
The gush of blood jetting from the child's knee
lacerated in a fall from a stolen bicycle
a dare too pricey,
Sometimes a child even a lovely one must
breach the ocean to touch the shore beyond
without a vessel, anchor, port.
Here Mother loves the child.
Here Mother loves her bold child and rotten apples
matter little among threads of gold
weaving a blanket no wind, hail, snow
will ever cut.
Many times, giggles and stories and kisses
thicken the cloth big enough to span the ocean
and time. She knows her child will forget her
someday soon when ready to steal a car, plane, rocket
without out fear of gashing a knee.
The child's face won't slide onto her scarf
gliding on a salty trail of mud and sopping.
But grown limbs and sharp thoughts will foil
the oyster and hug fish below the horizons
along the jagged edge of the worked up ocean
far, far away from Mother's arms
with nothing but a blanket and a lullaby.