CoDA Weekly Reading

 mother’s garden

 

where does

the line

begin?

—

I am

ending it

here

I am

ending it

here

I am so

afraid

but I am

ending it

here

I’m lost

in what

I was given

but it ends

—here—

deep in my

womb

memories of

wounds

passed down

from mother

to mother

to mother

to me

I carry

the weight

of the women

who carried

the weight

of me

—and I am so, so heavy.

the line is drawn

—h—e—r—e—

no more

daughters

to carry the

shame

no more sons

spreading

the blame

no more hatred

no more grief

no more begging

“stay, please—“

I end it

here

I end it

now

I lit the match

I’m burning it down

I fall to my

knees

my soul

cries out

ravaged by the fire

a holy sound

this womb is empty

there’s nothing now—

I reap what

they have

sown.

the ground is charred

my skin is scarred

my heart is marred—

still here I am.

will I find relief

amongst the embers?

or will I find grief

is all I can remember?

I fear there is nothing left.

but wait—

from the ashes—

the soil—

the soul—

grows fertile

again!

the flames could not take

what life could not break—

the soil, the soul

remains—

we return to the place

from which we came—

the soil, the soul

remains—

we cannot strip the soul

of what makes it a soul

as we cannot strip the soil

of its history—

everything we are

is everything we were

is everything we will be—

to grow

we must have

sunlight

water

air

but to live

to breathe

to thrive

we need the soil—

we need the soul—

passed down

from mother

to mother

to mother
to me

here I grow!

my roots

deep and strong

it’s been so long—

can I hold on?

breathe in

breathe out

it’s okay now—

we’re here.

here in the ground

my soul is found

I feed on what remains—

the souls of my mothers

and their mothers—

their soil, fine and rich—

their echoing pain

stripped by the flames

their love is what remains

and from the ashes

we rise—

whole.

the line ends

—here—

but finally

the garden

is green.

 

Sean L.  04/14/2024