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


Stars


Whisper

Oh, forgive us, Old Mother.

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Photography By Sage and Bone

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