In the news there has been a story about a pregnant woman who drove her three kids into the ocean. Another story explains that a mother and father left their kids in the woods. Today's poem is not about them though. I couldn't bare to put their stories into words today. I woke up today, as I often do, thinking about my own mom, me being a mom to my kids, my friends who have lost their moms, or who are watching them get older and change. I read a post on a friend's wall about some wise words of wisdom from her son about her own mother, and the strong bonds of knowing a person before they are born. This post, and the news about mothers (I suppose) inspired today's poem. Plus, it is International Women's Day.
A mother's orchestra plays with the strings from her heart
The notes are made up as she goes
Pretty melody and tear-jerking moves
tuned and tugged and strummed
she watches
as her little boys become men
and her little girls become women
A mother's heart wants to wrap her babies up,
put them under her musicial wings
and keep them safe
But instinct tells her it cannot be
as difficult as it is, she must
soak it up,
And then even though it hurts,
give them space
For only with freedom will they learn how to play
Only with distance will they learn what
to do
To tune, to tug, and to strum on their own
They'll come back one day
to their mother's orchestra
Where she'll be waiting
With open arms and heart open
Like a well-used harp
Ready to listen to them play their own orchestra symphony.
