Published with Impsipred Literary Magazine January 2020
I Am a Bridge Published with Impsipred Literary Magazine January 2020 poetry I am a boulder in a stream that winds wild a ford in a river that rushes cold unyielding to outsiders. I’ll hold your place while you wade the shallows navigate the waters that test you without a compass.
I am a walking stick of petrified wood smooth and stony, worn shiny where you have placed your hand again and again and again leaning heavily, rising tall then grasping hold to stave off the fall.
I am a path walker by your side a preserver of footsteps waiting to be mapped rather than buried under or brushed aside for my own way for my own journey.
I am a noticer of moments, feeling the flickering of your eyes fatigued and worn the wiping of a palm along the cheek of your frustrated face the hunching of your young shoulders the shifting of your tone ever so subtly wavering, wobbling that screams to me louder than any spoken words.
I am a blanket for warmth light or heavy, to be spread or folded for later rather than a chilly vessel empty telling you to cover yourself to calm yourself alone to be like me, to think like me.
I am a listener for your message a page turner for your story a searcher for your truth that may take a lifetime to reveal itself to define itself, to circle back and understand itself.
I am a gatherer, scouting for signs, marking the trail, improving the shelter, for incoming storms that pace the horizon lurching forth hoping to lay waste to you seeking to slow you, longing to separate you from the group.
I am a sentry armed with patience that won’t give way or fail you while you venture forth, stumbling, bounding away mistaking going for knowing, bringing back ideas and tales of that which is other than me.
I am a pillow for your head beckoning you home when staying seems wrong but going is dangerous because I was mothered held by women selfless shown with actions by souls not fragile. Nurtured not rejected through conflict, I was pulled when pushing was futile, led out the other side with my heart intact, under the spell of devotion to raising me rather than being offended by my mistakes. Not fatally annoyed by my missteps not inconvenienced by my childish needs, my women did not fall forgetful that to mother me from birth to death was to face me every day to be my glue when I was undone and to release me when I was free enough to go.
I am a bridge from my mother to you my sons where only love can pass.