Old Mother

The river of life runs through me

And comes out every month

I am female

It chose me

And so I am closer to the door of life and death.

Every month a tiny egg is loosed 

Promise of impossibly

Great love

A tiny body

I might hold

Not unlike my own

If only I could feel 

An ounce of this love

For strangers

Or for those 

Who have done me wrong

There might be a chance

To heal 

This Old Mother

Choking on plastic.

Whose branches creak

Amphibians leap

Leaves lace 

In twos and fours



Oh, forgive us, Old Mother.

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Photography By Sage and Bone

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