Over a half century ago when I plunked our younger of less than a year into his crib for the umpteenth time, (he learned to climb out at nine months old), frustrated beyond measure,  I shouted at him,  ‘why did you choose me as your mother?’   And as I heard the words of my mouth I knew they were of my heart and I knew that he chose me as I chose him.  It was the first time I said them aloud but they were true for him and for his brothers and from that moment on,  I said them with a hug  and in every letter and card,  I would write or say,  ‘thank you for choosing me as your mother because I chose you.’   They were special always and I lived my days with them with this thought.  In that frame of reference, I will be sharing what my journey has meant through my years.  And why I think what goes on within four walls determines what happens outside the front door.

Of The Pen That Writes

You, my son
of the pen that writes,
that puts my small effort to shame
but it is my best effort.

Have I not shown how my actions
were the cause
of a heart stripping exercise?
Have my actions been unkind?

Have not my words
spoken in your language
of my journey to the stars,
trying to gather evidence
to convince you,  my beloveds,
that the unseen is as large
an obstacle to deal with
in our innocent green earth?

As large as what is evident
in the visible needing magic and a God
of omniscient energies?

I may sit in my Light
to write these missives but to write them
is evidence that I have lived them.
And this pen dips in the ink
of what has been my life’s blood
and my heart the inkwell.

The cost has been exorbitant,
but for you whom I have loved
and nurtured beneath
the inkwell of my heart,
never a sacrifice.

Thoughtful dialogues in my head
readied my life for your arrivals.
The disappointment?
Only my inability

to convince you of your divinity.

Artwork by Claudia Hallissey