Motherwort
Today I must Do at least one load of delicates, Wipe off the mud from our boots. Dust the piano, shelves, some of my past. Give up trying to prove my worth. Feed the birds by ten, And after feeding the birds I must Listen to the soft sound of their satiation As it nests in the cooler air— The cooler air never as cold As the untended wound.
3 replies on “Motherwort”
I love this poem – especially because it is cradled by/titled after one of my favorite plant allies, Leonurus Cardiaca (Motherwort).
Thank you Claudia — I love that you used the word ‘cradled’.
listen to the soft sound of their satiation – what a lovely line
I love the list of details, things that must be done
as well as dust off my past
and tend to the untended wound
beautiful!