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POETRY

To Be a Mother

To be a mother is to love another
as your own self,
with all heart — about to burst

into a trillion sparks,
pumping the warm glow
to every nook and cranny,

blood from blood, body fed
from molecules of liquid
gold, from the warmth of skin.

With all mind — cluttered with calculations
of eat-sleep-repeat, you never thought
you would cling to math

and stumble through normal tasks
on a brain half asleep from
waking with the stars.

With all soul — longing to know
the tiny one that grew within
now reaching hands and pulling hair,

little fingers in your nose, having never
felt a nose before, bubbling up
tears and laughter at the same time.

With all strength — you strained
to carry the extra weight in your belly
now weak and empty, arms full

of pounds gained by the week,
both of you getting stronger,
lifting, bouncing, rocking — walking.

Heart, mind, body, strength,
you pour into another because
for you, he was poured out,

giving because he gave
life and love, sweat and tears,
as one of us, God in blood,

so that we might live to give
life, that weak arms grow
strong, hungry cries satisfied,

the naked warmed and clothed.
To be a mother is to be Christ
to the least of these.

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Dabney Baldridge is a stay-at-home mom of three young boys with another on the way who writes in the middle of the messiness of life to create beauty out of chaos. Her work appears in America’s Best Emerging Poets and Pennsylvania’s Best Emerging Poets by Z Publishing House.

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Image: Mother by Mikuláš Galanda, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.