Mother Like You Never Did Before

 

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Even now in the 4^th quarter of life
I want mothering and want to re-mother—
not the job of tending children (though that might suffice)—
but the job of nurturing an equal:
feeding, hugging, being near enough
to listen, to touch, and to help fill a need.
 
Ah, you say, you want romance, and you smile
in a gentle tease, and I laugh because you are
mothering (friending?), and we do not romance
each other.  We feed each other’s animal friends
when travel demands, we often eat together
and always play—and sometimes we mother.
 
What a lovely soulful word!  You say friendship,
but I like the sigh and moan of the word mother,
the strength and airiness of it, the animal heart of it,
the suggestion of sharing a secret with the earth
who is the mother of us all.  I like the non-gendered
fluidness of the skill, the bravery and trust of it.
 
As a friend I bring you my secrets, as a lover
with you I unite, but as someone (not a mother)
who can mother, I say, go ahead and let
your guard down, be a child for a while.
I will be as if a tree holding you in shade,
knowing you will go out into the sun again.

 

For Sumana's prompt "Mother" at What's Going On?

I think I believe this, though there are times I say "don't mother me" meaning "don't smother me."  I like how it sounds in this poem, though I've never said "I like how you mother me" aloud (not even to my mother).  I am lucky to still have my mother.  This year she turned 99, and she will not let me mother her.  BTW, my first poetry book is rightly titled ReMothering.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2023 Susan L. Chast