Seraphim
This child of mine
is more religion than I’ve ever had,
though I was ushered to church
three hours each Sunday year round
and twice a week during Advent and Lent.
This I can’t get away from — wouldn’t want to.
The first time I went without him,
I felt more than naked, rushed back
up the mountain, didn’t leave again
for at least a year, my mind coming back
over and over to its beloved object,
my heart repenting all its lapses —
every moment I’ve snuck to read
or write or struggle against my day.
It repents as soon as he’s asleep
in my arms and I press my hands
against his body, willing the overflow
of affection through his tissue, into his heart.
Of what does devotion consist, if not of this,
and of squatting on the floor in front of the toilet,
and of allowing him to ride me, a hands-and-knees horse,
and of correcting without display
his every irregular verb gone awry?
I am lucky: my conscience is clear most days,
cleared over and over by him, and yet it is not enough.
A cougar slopes by our window in broad daylight,
a tawny seraphim, announcing
you must hold your child closer, pay attention
closer, closer by this much.
1 reply on “Seraphim”
Beth I don’t know if you will remember me from Transfiguration Lutheran Church/Olson middle school in Bloomington but we just attended a funeral for Jim Klungness and Ben was there. We talked about you and Transfiguration and I just googled your name out of curiosity to see what you were doing and found this site/ poem. It’s so lovely and it just hit me hard how accurate your description of being a mother is and how it changes your view on everything. It’s been years since we have known each other but this writing connects us as it would anyone else who has been a mother. Guess that’s the purpose of good writing. I was especially moved by the line this child of mine is more religion than I’ve ever had…..have been struggling recently with my relationship with organized religion and this made it so clear that motherhood and a love for a child is from God so I don’t need to worry so much about how many times I go to church, take communion, or which church I attend……as good Midwestern Lutherans tend to do. Look forward to reading more of your work. What a wonderful gift for your son to have this poem.