Tug on This Thread (a poem)

Tug on This Thread

The love you didn’t give me…
…you were never given…
The strength you never showed me…
…you were never shown…

The tears you did not wipe
as they rolled down my face…
…just reminded you of
how you suffered, alone…
…and that, so should I…

The nourishing foods
seemed like a hassle.
The songs…
…you didn’t remember the words…

The dreams,
you learned not to talk about…
…and then, they left you like hungry friends do
when you don’t call their names…

And yet…

…Like a spider moving from
that inner place of knowing…
…I have woven a soft place
for my heart to land.

And, in this many-legged mother’s home,
I catch the sun’s rays
in dewdrops along the filaments
of my thoughts.

I can see the reflection
of my bright ancestors in there.
Filled with love.
Always there when I am in need.
Always feeding remembrance.

I am the weaver of my own story, you see.

Tug on this thread
and the




(A poem I wrote after watching a ‘closing of the body ceremony‘ for a new mother in the Mexican tradition and the ‘nafsa’ or new mother tradition/ritual in Morocco. These are the words that came to me while contemplating these traditions and healing the mother wound in our modern culture…)

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