Sunday Poetry

Ellen bore her testimony at church today.  She's my book club friend, a mother of eight and a grandmother.  I want to be better friends with her, which means I should probably go to book club more, which means I should actually read the books so I can contribute more.  She quoted Milton and a poem by Carol Lynn Pearson in her testimony and I loved everything she said.

This evening, I pulled out the Carol Lynn Pearson book of poetry called The Search.  And I must share three poems that I love.  The first poem sums up my very fresh feelings on Mei Li going to kindergarten, Stephen being the big boy of the house, and well, weaning Mi Na when she was thirteen months old. 

THE WEANING

There is cloth now
Between you
And my breast --
Cloth
And a little pain

This is the Beginning.
I take your face
In my hands
And guide your gaze
Away, out there --
To the fruit trees,
To the stars.

My arms,
Though empty,
Fold comfort
To a mother-heart
That yearns for nursing,
Yet knows that weaning
Is the bigger part.



I loved this next one.  I love the image of the child as the potter and the mother as the hearth.

THE FRIEND

Let me
Be the hearth
Where you sit
To work your clay.
I'll not say
"Shape it like this,
Or like that,"
I promise.

Let me watch 
As you
In absolute agency
Mold your
Mortal dream.

Only --
Sit close
And let me give 
A little light,
A little warmth.
Yes --
Warmth especially.

Cold clay yields
To no form.
Let me 
Be your hearth.
Sit close --
Be warm.

This next one made me cry when I first read it.  Then I made Steve come cuddle me on the couch so I could read it to him.  And I cried.  Then when Ie Mei called, I asked "Can I read you some poetry?"  Then I read it to her and cried some more.  After this post is done, I'm going to go upstairs and give my "small friends" a hug and a kiss and do my very best for them tomorrow.

MOTHER TO CHILD

Look --
Your little fist
Fits mine
Like the pit
In a plum.

I think,
In the time
Before remembering,
These two hands
Clasped companionably,
Then parted.

Help me, child.
Forgive me
When I fail you.
I'm your mother,
True,
But in the end
Merely an older equal
Doing her faltering best
For a dear
Small friend.
 
Good night, friends.  I'll be posting again soon.