Guts and Pastels
In honor of Mother’s Day, a message to me from the version of my mom that lives in my intuition:
Beyond the pain and mess
After the harsh words and forget-me-nots
There lingers the warmth
From which we all came.
That warmth is more important than getting it right.
Share your soul-fire with them
Let its imperfect authenticity
As you once did.
Nothing is more raw than motherhood.
The blood and mucus at birth are no anomaly:
Resist the urge to pull crisp linens over them.
Your time will come to fade like cut flowers.
Until then, use your roots.
Something about Mother’s Day has always slightly unsettled me. Too many pastels, not enough guts. This poem, siphoned from the incredible woman who warms my memories, steadies that wobble for me. I’m a little more ready for the onslaught of sweet chaos that will be my tomorrow.