O Mourning Mother,

Lady of the Staying Power,

We do not see, in the stories,

How your tears fell like rain,

How you wailed with grief,

Hands and knees on the cold earth

Which would soon hold the rest

Of your child’s body,

What was not held aside

As an instrument of torture.

 

Those who did that deed, in their anger,

Did not think of your eyes

Seeing your dead son’s remains shining pink,

Filled with unreal life, minute

After minute, hour after hour

As you knelt in that terrible cave.

Indeed, Lady of terrible sorrow,

Mothers are often left out of the great stories

And the minds of those whose deeds create them.

 

And yet you walked down into that cave

And did what was necessary, over and over,

For uncounted years until you and your beloved

Were released to roam the world,

And some part of you suffers there yet,

And your sons are still lost to you,

But hope still glows in you like a warm reflection.

Teach me, Mourning Mother, how to stand tall

In the face of that soul-crushing grief,

How to walk down into the cave of necessity

And do, without hesitation, what must be done.

 

Teach me that no torment lasts forever,

That someday I will walk out of that cave

To see the sun again, and dance for joy

That there is a Sun, a Moon, a tree whose roots

Made the fragrant loam beneath our feet,

Green and purple horizons, and moments

Without more than the shadow of grief.

 

Teach me to believe, O Mourning Mother,

Sigyn whose gentle hands cradle my soul,

That someday my memories will fade to rose

And violet as any sunset, wreathed in veils

And  the promise of stars.

 

Each of your tears is a crystal prism

That breaks the light into brilliance.

Show me, Lady of Forgiveness,

That even grief can shine.

Written in honor of Betty Mae HCB, by request of her daughter Elaine.

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