Motherhood Defined by a Mother

What do I know about motherhood
That can be passed on for a season?
It is a timeless occupation
that must not be managed, survived, endured nor bridled.

It is an infant's paper thin pink skin,
pressed against your chest
for the memory of a shared heartbeat to transplant.

It is sweet exhalations and the rise and fall of a tiny form.

It is toes counted and recounted, feet touched, visage examined and adored.

Working or nonworking,
it is denial of self,
obliteration of a carefully constructed identity.
It kills the poet and distracts the writer.
How many novels went to the grave because of it?
Motherhood is not ambitious.

It is at once self loathing and narcissim;
gazing into a mirror while stepping toward a void.

It is touch, glee, joy and it thrives only within a soul.
It is everlasting and fleeting,
an example of the changing seasons that return,
each summer totally different than the prior.

It is a treasure, found buried deep within a self.
It is amazement and awe, and as common as
the clouds, rain or air.

It is seeing your own eyes look back at you,
your own words used in the very way
You did not anticipate.

It is laundry, and breakfast lunch and dinner.
Laundry, breakfast lunch and dinner.
Laundry, breakfast lunch and dinner, and a midnight snack,
plus lunch and dinner the next day.

It is a gift from God.
It is Eve's legacy and Sarah's sole desire,
And Mary's blessing and sorrow.

It is launghing, smiling and a grateful heart beyond words.
It is hope for a future and nostalgia for the past.
In the present, it is the essence of life and love.

It is close to God's heart.
He alone whispers encouragement into a mother's ear.
He alone notes the work and the love, the worry and the joy.
And, within that contrasting paradigm, God can dwell peacefully.