For My Mother, with Love

Mother Nature

I recall watching her walk into a room –
Poetic, strong, stoic – like slightly thawed ice water.
She is woven out of sacrifice and wicker chair knotted wires of gold.
The hallmark of a topaz kind of love.
She lives in pocket kept dreams and underbelly streams,
And strokes wisps behind ears and heals last night’s leftover pains.
She is a blue lace kind of gentle; a lioness protector.
I see myself in her eyes, her tears, her delicate hands.
I spend countless hours dancing in fireside rings as she
Spins cotton dresses and angel white necklaces.
I smell Sundays of blueberry muffin batter and breeze blown windows,
And choose to inhale her goodness in our granite-covered kitchen.
She is a goddess of motherhood and soothes like tender chamomile.
She molds my Play-Doh dreams into brick houses that arch to the sky.
And with her hand holding mine, we build bridges of full lives
Of coral and copper sands, where she teaches me of womanhood and
Wild independence like only the fiercest mother can.

– Samantha Prasad

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