Mother’s Day

I'd been there two days, already,

there were two more to come,

and made pictures for the other moms

Flowers in crayon and marker,

for each small face beyond the courtyard

They'd smile, nod, sharing themselves through sunken eyes

But that was the afternoon.

In the morning,

I spiraled.

Looking out of a frosted window,

wondering what the phoenix knows of death, if she remembers rebirth

Envious of the sun, how it warms the leaves.

I turned a blurry eye

to the workbook the doctors said would help-- not more than the meds, but enough, sure--

Halting whirlpools, the best I could

I thought sisters who wore their broken crowns in withered weeds

the eager maiden, the defeated mother, the bitter crone,

and smashed felt-tip letters into tiny boxes

I breathe,

reset,

and realize.

It was them, those two

that slid knives through peppers

instead of thumping veins

and slid potatoes into the oven instead of my tear-streaked face

Two lives, entangled into mine,

Miraculous eyes that study me, as I study theirs, reflections of what came before and what lies ahead

Linked through unconditional cords, formed into inquisitive structures

If I am the reason for them, they are the reason for me