One Mother: Poem

A poem I wrote for the Divine Mother.

One Mother

She is like an egg

all wobbly and round,

ceaselessly performing 

that silly dance, making 

sense of space surrounding her.

She is rooted in her navel,

soil pregnant with possibilities. 

Her trunk, with rings infinite,

is proud to see the fruition of time;

when the wind picks up,

she sways smiling. 

Her limbs stretch through creation

so that she may playfully place

crowns on all her children,

with no exception.

And        when        we        fall

whether it be from fascination, 

from grace, or from floor fifteen,

she is that perfect      permanent      pillow,

who swallows us whole

into her feathers and linen,

and then gently eases us 

back to the surface

so that we may again take a look 

at this bright, revolving world

that we had somehow forgotten how to see.