from Mothering Sunday

Mothering Sunday in England, unlike Mothers' Day in the US, is the Third Sunday in Lent, when we celebrate the Motherhood of the Church. (Of course we celelberate our own Moms too).

This the fourth part of a poem with that title:

IV
And I thought of a woman so benign,
she lifted all wickedness from me,
a weight I did not know was mine
until her light fell on me.

Light indeed I felt at last,
ready to stand at my own height
before a smile which travelled fast
across the windless night.

Floating before me heavy with child,
in robes of purple and white,
message and messenger, she smiled,
the Mother of The Second Life

A woman of vision only
of a purity beyond touch,
who made hope as vivid as memory
with her promise of love.

Emptied of all but love myself
and truly nothing except for her
my fear of nothing was put to death,
my doubts dissolved in air

All in the space of a breath
that ashes of my dead heart stirred
and I felt in my solitary depth
as exalted as a bird.

I was drawn by the comforting title and pleased to know that its offspring bore the same characteristics. A mother and her love can warm any heart.

My cup of tea, brotha. Love it.