Somebody is your mother,
loving, caring for you,
in a way, they all were,
loving you into being.
Maybe she was not
the one you thought
she would be.
Maybe she was dirt and trees,
or a grandmother on her knees,
your father
or brother,
maybe a hive of bees.
She is everywhere, around you,
the particulates in the air,
the dance of your wrist in
spiral rhythm, the fire
of desire in your stare.
Have you considered lately your ability to love?
Striving to reach the surface.
Where are you holding her in?
The Lady is free, let her be,
or reconvene 6 feet deep.
If you loved the land as your mother,
If we loved each other as our mother,
as much as you say,
how would it be different? In what kinds of ways?
It’s hard to see her, trapped in concrete,
sterile, cold, society~
uptight, depressive misery~
see the monotony, the mediocrity,
the travesty that’s become of
me,
her,
us.
Oh, instinctual knowing,
from down deep,
rising,
I bow to you.
Reflections from the Future 